


The King and the Artist

by Miggles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miggles/pseuds/Miggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lacie lives in apartment 221C baker street, trying to make her way as an artist in London. Through a misunderstanding, she meets Sherlock's Enemy, Jim Moriarty. Will the strange pair fall in love? And what will happen to Jim during the Reichenbach Fall? Will Jim best Sherlock, or will he be the one falling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Neighbor Plays the Violin

      I never saw my neighbors much. I heard them though, the sounds of people running up the stairs to apartment 221B, or down the stairs into the street. I heard bumps and thuds, likely from people or things falling. I heard the occasional scream, and after reassurance from Doctor Watson, I learned that the occasional scream was likely from him finding some sort of weird experiment in some place it shouldn't be. I heard gunshots a few times, and Mrs. Hudson told me it from the consulting detective that got a bit  _too_  bored. I also heard the violin. Trust me, I heard the violin. I heard it at 4 am, I heard it when I would wake up in the mornings, and I heard while I ate my meals. I didn't hear it all the time, but like a plague or a curse, the damned man seemed to always play it when I wanted peace, or was trying to sleep. I never told him to stop it, mostly because I thought he was a bit...  _odd_ , and I didn't want to have to speak with him. 

     I almost considered moving out, what with all the gunshots, violin playing, screams, bumps, and just general  _noise_  from upstairs, but I decided against it. This was the only place I could afford at the moment, and even then it was because Mrs. Hudson was kind and let me paint a mural on her wall instead of paying full rent. It took a few weeks, and when I had finished with the intricate scene that covered the whole wall, she was so happy and pleased that she gave me a reduced rent fee. I'm glad she did, I thought the mural was fantastic, and if I could have painted the magical forest scene on canvas exactly as I had painted it on the wall, I would have. 

     I'm an artist. Right now, I'm an undiscovered, struggling artist. I make my living by sketching portraits of people on the street in front of 221C Baker street, which is where I currently live. Ever since I had moved to London a few months ago, I've spent most of the weekdays in front of the apartment trying to earn my keep. At night, I'd work on my paintings, or sketch some more. You could say I didn't have much of a life, but to me, my art was my life. Sure, other than Mrs. Hudson, I had no friends in London. I also didn't have a boyfriend, or any other person I would even consider dating. That never bothered me much, mostly because I'd rather work on a painting instead of going to the movies or out to dinner with someone. 

 

     My day began as it normally did. My alarm rang promptly at eight o'clock, the alarm sound being the theme song from my favorite canceled show, Firefly. I'm not saying I was a major fangirl of all things sci-fi, I just liked the show.

     I groaned, still tired from last night. Mr. Consulting Detective had been playing Mozart all night, and I was unable to get more than a few hours sleep. I leaned up in my queen sized bed, the only luxury I had allowed myself since the move to London, and pushed away the pale blue and dark brown sheets. I shuffled my way into the bathroom, stripped, and started to shower. The shower woke me up a bit, and after brushing my teeth, I walked back into my bedroom to get dressed. Today felt like a maroon day, so I pulled on my dark red panties and bra, before throwing on a black tank-top and a pair of paint-stained faded jeans. I sat down at my vanity, a rickety old thing that I had gotten cheap at a rummage sale and had fixed (or attempted to) fix up. 

      I normally didn't wear make-up, so I just ran a brush through my short, messy blue hair. Yes, blue. Not a bright, obnoxious blue that teenagers and punks felt looked rebellious, but rather a dark, almost black blue. I don't know why I chose that color, I had just been restless on my 23rd birthday, and dyed it. I liked it, so since then, I had kept it. Once my hair was done, (nothing more difficult than running a brush through it, I had no one I wanted to impress), I walked to the kitchen to grab something to eat. As always, my fridge was almost empty and I vowed to get groceries later on tonight. For now, I mused, I would live on toast. While the toast was toasting, I threw on a maroon button up collared shirt, and rolled up the sleeves to my elbows, in an attempt to keep it clean in work to come. 

     I grabbed the toast, and began nibbling at it while I moved the stool I sat on to sketch outside, and then the small, light-weight, portable easel outside and set it up. I then carried out my pencil case, my drawing pad, and the sign I had artfully created after I had moved in. I set up the sign which read, "Portrait Sketches. £10 per person, groups of 3 or more base price of £30 and £15 per additional person"

     I finished my toast as I set up my sketch pad, a professional type that I had bought just to sell sketches to people who requested them. I was ready to wait for business, and I had even brought a paperback version of my favorite novel,  _The Great Gatsby,_  to read if business was slow. 

 

* * *

 

     It was a busy day, and I was glad for it. A lot of tourists traveled down Baker street, and I had several large groups want to have group drawings done. It was nearing three in the afternoon when business began to slow down. I grabbed a meager sandwich I had made, just the basic peanut butter, and took quick break to eat. Afterwards, I began to read from where I had left off in my book, stopping occasionally to glance up at the surroundings, to see if there were any approaching customers. It was around 3:30 when I first noticed him. I ignored him at first, and went back to reading, but when I looked up again, he was still there. He stayed where he was, and at 4:10, I stopped reading to see what he was up to. 

 

     He looked like he wasn't really doing anything. He was just standing on the other side of the street, dressed in an immaculate suit that fit him like a glove, staring at the apartment. His hands were in his pockets, and he had a faint smile on his lips, as if he was waiting for something. He didn't pay much attention to me at first, and I couldn't blame him. He looked so important, and I was not. Why would he care to look at a girl trying to sell pictures on the sidewalk? 

     I examined him for a bit longer, my eyes were trained to spot and examine details, and I noted the sharp jawline that he possessed was covered in a fine layer of what appeared to be a carefully groomed 5 o'clock shadow, the somewhat thin yet full looking lips, and the meticulous dark brunette hair. A pair of dramatic arched eyebrows rested over what seemed to be the darkest and most intense pair of eyes I had ever seen. The combination of all these small things added into what I thought was both a very attractive, and very dangerous looking man. 

     People moved around him, and I felt compelled to draw him, to create evidence that he existed. He was ignored, and I could have almost believed that he was just a figment of my imagination. I had to do something! Before he left, I quickly grabbed my drawing pad and opened it up to a random blank page. With a pencil in my hands, I began sketching him quickly. I did a full body sketch, and when I glanced up at him for the third time, I noticed he was staring at me. I tried to ignore his piercing gaze the best I could, and continued to draw. I wanted to capture him perfectly, this incredible display of elegance and power that he just seemed to radiate. I looked back down at my drawing, and began to draw in the shading around him. It wasn't until I heard a cough that I glanced back up. 

 

He was standing in front of me. 


	2. The Man in the Suit

  
_I looked back down at my drawing, and began to draw in the shading around him. It wasn't until I heard a cough that I glanced back up._

_He was standing in front of me._

* * *

    

      "Hello there." He said in a chipper voice. "Just what do you think  _you're_  doing?" I noticed a menacing undertone in his voice, and I couldn't help but shiver slightly. He seemed to notice, and his grin grew. Before I had a chance to answer, he spoke again. "You don't look to be a part of  _his_  homeless network..." His eyes narrowed, and the grin faded. "Must be a watchdog then, hmm? Taking notes on the passersby?" He grabbed the notebook from my hand, I protested.   


 

     "Hey! Give that back!" 

 

     "Well, I can't just do that, dear. I don't want any evidence of my being here to reach the Virgin's ears..." He held the pad by his side. 

 

     I had no idea what he meant. The Virgin? Who could that be? This guy wasn't some kind of psycho-killer, was he? I did understand one thing though. the man had accused me of spying! I was furious, first he had taken my drawing pad, and then he had insulted me! "I'm not a watchdog," I growled in a low voice, standing up. I was only 5"8, so there was no way I could hope to intimidate the easily 6" man with my height, but I decided to try anyway. "I'm an artist!" 

 

     "A likely cover story..." 

 

     "Did you not see the  _sign_?" I clenched my jaw, trying to keep from calling the man some very inappropriate things. "Look at the pad if you want, it's nothing but pictures!" 

 

     I saw him back off a step, and glance down at the sign in front attached to the back of my easel. With the smirk vanishing, he looked at the pad in his hands. He flipped it open, and browsed through the various doodles of people who had just passed by and caught my interest. As he flipped through, he suddenly stopped, and raised one of his perfect eyebrows. Looking back at me, he spoke.

 

     "This is me." I felt myself pale a bit. He wasn't going to try and go to court against me for drawing a picture of him was he? He looked back at the sketch again. "This is a very good drawing of me." 

 

     "I..uhm.." I kept trying to think of a response, but my mouth seemed to decide to suddenly not work. 

 

     He held out the sketchpad, and I took it from him. "My name's Jim," He nodded his head towards me and held out his hand. "Jim Moriarty." 

 

     I suddenly found my voice again. "Lacie Fowell." I wiped my graphite covered hand on my pants, and placed my hand in his, expecting a handshake. Instead, he bowed slightly and pressed a kiss to my hand. "Oh.." I inhaled sharply, and could feel a blush rising to my cheeks. 

 

     "You're quite the artist, Lacie Fowell." His voice had lost the menacing undertone, and I instantly grew more comfortable around him. 

 

     "Thank you." I replied, smiling lightly. 

 

     "I'd like to purchase that drawing of me, if you wouldn't mind." He flashed me a charming grin. 

 

     I blinked, confused. "Are you sure? I'm sure I can draw a better one if you'd give me a few minutes..."   


 

     "I doubt you could," My shoulders slumped a bit, "For this one is perfection in itself." I perked back up at this. I knew I was good, but it was rare when someone else told me so.

 

     "Of course."  I carefully tore the sketch out, thankful for the perforated edges on the paper. He pulled out a finely made leather wallet, and handed me a few notes, and small business card, and took the sketch from me. Before I could react, he began to saunter away, his long legs caring him away from me quickly. He turned his head back one last time, and gave me a grin. 

 

     "Text me." With those words, he vanished into a crowd of people (tourists, I noticed, the cameras and stares gave them away). 

 

     When I looked down at the money, I was shocked to see that he had given me four £50 notes! I felt my jaw drop a bit, and I grinned. Other than a small art gallery in my home city of Cardiff, I hadn't made that much money on a sale ever before. I pocketed the cash, and examined the card. 

     It was a plain, rich white color, and printed on thick, expensive paper. On one side, it simply stated in a beautiful golden ink "Moriarty". When I flipped the card, a number was printed on the back of it in the same ink.  

 

     Feeling a bit tired from the exciting day, I slipped the card in my pocket, and gathered my things. After putting them inside, and I counted out my profits for the day, and placed the card on my bedside table where I placed my simple (and cheap) flip-phone. Putting what I needed in my pockets, I headed out to get the groceries like I promised myself I would. Tonight, I would feast. Tonight, I would decide whether or not to actually text Jim Moriarty. 

 

I sighed. I hated making decisions. 


	3. All the Cool Kids Text

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is going to be 3rd person, mostly focused on Jim's PoV! :D Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> BTW, this is after "The Great Game". Some characters may seem OoC, and that's my fault :P

 

**Later On That Week**

     Jim Moriarty was a criminal mastermind. A genius, on border with  _god_. And yet, with all his power, he couldn't manage to get a single thing done. He scowled at his phone which bore a simple text message saying, "Unsuccessful." His network included the best sniper in the world, hundreds of loyal minions, and yet he  _still_  couldn't get Sherlock away from John. 

     He scowled again, his temper growing. John.  _John._  Damn the man! That blasted  _John_  kept Sherlock in check and in relative control. He needed Sherlock desperate for his next part of his plan, and yet  _John_  had been glued to the man's side since the pool confrontation. The only hope he had of getting Sherlock to come to him was to getJohn into some sort of trouble, planned by none other than the mastermind Moriarty himself. 

 

     It was only when his loyal sniper and private bodyguard, Sebastian, entered the room that Jim made movement to move off of the white leather couch. With a throw that could make a pitcher jealous, Jim chucked the phone against the wall besides the ornate marble fireplace. With cold look on his face, the type of look that told Sebastian that Jim was in a  _very_  foul mood, Jim spoke. 

 

     "They failed, Sebby..." He stuck his hands in his suit pockets, rocked back on the heels of his custom made Mezlan Goitto Alligator Derby shoes. Expensive, but Jim knew he deserved the best, and he got the best. With a playful grin, gave the order. "Go make them scream." 

 

     Sebastian turned to go, anxious to be out of the room. Jim was an amazing man, but when he was mad, or in a mood, it was quite literally deadly to set him off, and Sebastian never knew what could set him off. He was almost through the door when he heard the taunting sounds of the Bee Gees "Stayin' Alive" playing from his boss's phone. He turned, expecting the phone call or text to be related to the order Jim had just given him, and waited patiently. Jim didn't make any sort of movement towards the phone now laying on the floor (thank god he had convinced Jim to buy an almost indestructible phone), and instead stared up at the ceiling, his tongue peeking between his lips in a concentrated manner. 

 

     "You gonna get that?" Sebastian asked.

 

     "Nope!" Came the musical sounding reply from Jim. He seemed to still be fascinated by the ceiling. 

 

     With a sigh, Sebastian walked over to the phone and flipped it open. "Unknown number, looks like a text." 

 

     Jim held out his hand expectedly, and Sebastian tossed the phone in his direction. Without looking, Jim caught the phone smoothly in his hand and flipped it open, his concentration now lying on whatever the text said. "You can go." Jim said, sounding in a better mood than before. As Sebastian left the room, Jim easily jumped over the back of the couch, landing on the leather seats and propped his feet up on the glass coffee table. With a grin, he read the message again. 

 

_Hey. It's Lacie...You asked me to text you, so...._

_-L_

     Jim quickly typed a reply. 

 

**I never asked, I demanded.**

**-JM**

  
Not a minute after he sent the text, he got a reply back. With a light chuckle, he continued the conversation. 

 

_You're a cheeky one, aren't you?_

_-L_

**I've been called many things.**

**-JM**

**Smart, confident, a genius, sexy, a mastermind... But not cheeky.**

**-JM**

_Glad to be the first. ;)_

_-L_

**Are you free tonight?**

**-JM**

_Why?_

_-L_

**I'm taking you out to dinner of course.**

**-JM**

**I'll send a car over at 7, be ready. 221C, I presume?**

**-JM**

_You just assume I have no plans and that I'll go with a complete stranger?_

_-L_

**So you won't?**

**-JM**

_I never said that..._

_-L_

_I'll be waiting outside. And yes, 221C._

_-L_

**Dress nicely.**

**-JM**

  
With this, Jim ended the conversation. He flipped the phone shut, his mood better than it had been in days. With a grin that he did not describe as  _cheeky_ , he walked off to his room. He had a date to get ready for. 


	4. That Fantastic Suit

  
I was a bit surprised at myself. In one hours time, a man I knew nothing about was going to be taking me to dinner. For all I knew, he could take me into an alleyway and kill me! At the loud sound of a violin upstairs, I sighed.

 

     "And they'd never even catch him... All because Mr. Consulting Detective would find my murder too  _boring._ " I said aloud to my reflection in a mirror I had placed above my fireplace. I had been pacing what I considered the living room/studio since I had sent the first text, using the movement as a way to calm myself down. Now that the conversation was over, I couldn't help but still feel nervous at the prospect of a date in an hour. 

 

     "An hour!" I spoke aloud again, something I did quite often. "I need to get ready..." 

 

     I headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower to get clean (taking care to use my good smelling soaps), and then brushed my teeth again to get minty fresh breath. Didn't want to scare away Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome because of some bad breath, I thought to myself. Now came the difficult part. clothes. 

     I'm not someone who particularly cares about what they're wearing, but going to the store and going on a date were two different cases. I walked over to my closet, and hoped that I would have something suitable to wear. The last time I had bought something to impress a man on a date had been two years ago, back in Cardiff. Even then, it took my sister's prodding to get to me to buy something. As I glanced through my closet, I was relieved to find the same dress I had bought then. I pulled it out, and put it on. When I looked in the mirror, I was pleased to see that the dress still fit. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, admiring the way the ruffled short black sleeves weren't loose on my thin shoulders, and how the plunging neckline was just a touch flirty, but not too revealing. I was pleased at how the midnight black dress hugged my curves, and how it even made my smaller sized breasts seem just a hint larger. The dress stopped a good three inches above my knees, and I realized that I just needed to put on shoes and some light makeup, and I would be good to go. 

     I slipped on a pair of plain black pumps with heels that were only an inch or so high, and seated myself at my vanity to do my makeup and hair. My hair was short enough to fall into place by itself, the dark blue locks just brushing my jawline, so I just ran a brush through it and fixed a few wayward hairs. I carefully dabbed on a bit of mascara and some lip gloss, and put on a pair of tiny silver studs to wear as earrings for the night. Glancing at the clock, I could see that it was already 6:55, and Jim had said he'd send a car (I was still a bit surprised at that. People in London normally didn't send a car to come pick up their dates, did they?) at seven. With another quick glance to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, I grabbed the small black purse I had bought to go with a dress, inside was my phone, my license, wallet, and other things I normally carried with me, and headed out the door, locking it behind me.

 

     As I turned to head outside, I ran square into Mr. Consulting Detective himself. He rolled his eyes at me in an exaggerated manner. "Do you normally not look where you're going, or is this a new hobby you're picking up, Ms. Fowell?" 

 

     "What Sherlock means to say," I noticed Doctor John Watson close behind Sherlock, and the doctor eased his way past Sherlock to make for easier conversation, "is that he's sorry for bumping into you, Lacie." 

 

     "I didn't mean to say that at all, John." Sherlock stated at the exact time I said "Sure he did." 

 

     Sherlock looked a me, a bored look on his face as John complimented my outfit. "You look very nice today." 

 

     "She's going on a date, of course she's going to try and look better than she normally is." Sherlock crossed his arms, unamused. 

 

     "Thank you John.. and yes, I am going on a date."  _And I look fine every day, you pompous prick._  I added silently. 

 

     "It's someone you don't yet know completely, most likely a customer you met during your little sketching business, judging by your dress. You're trying to look mature and sophisticated, indicating that you want to make a good first impression. However, the date was short planned; your hair is still slightly damp at the ends on the left side. If you knew about it ahead of time, you would have planned for showering and dressing accordingly." I pursed my lips, annoyed. He continued, "He's obviously well off, it wouldn't make sense to dress so fancily to a movie or to a date at a four star or below restaurant, and no man would spend that much money on a first date unless it was normal for him. According to your shoes," John and I both looked at my low black pumps. "He's taller than you, by several inches, or you wouldn't have worn heels, no matter how low they are. You hate making people uncomfortable, so you would have worn flats if he was shorter, as not to appear taller than him." He paused, looking my shoes once more. "He's either taller than you, or you find him intimidating and are trying to feel more confident by wearing heels." 

     With a smirk, he finished. "You're going on a date to a five star restaurant, the only 5 star restaurant within a 40 kilometers is  _La Margeties_ , so it is safe to assume you'll be dining there. Your date is a tall man and intimidating well-dressed man who either inherited a large fortune, or has made his own fortune very early on in life if he has gotten used to the idea of first dates at expensive restaurants. He's also quite confident and arrogant." 

 

     "You  _are_  right," I admitted sheepishly, but something nagged me. "How do you know he's arrogant, confident, and well-dressed?"

 

     He nodded his head towards the window in the front door. "There's a chauffeured black Rolls Royce that just arrived outside. It's not for John and I, or Mrs. Hudson, so it must be for you. The only reason he would send a car to pick you up would be because he's quite confident that you'll be staying the night.We can assume he's well dressed due to the type of car, Rolls Royce. Someone with that much money would not be dressed shabbily, especially if they were dining at  _La Margeties_  ."

 

     I looked out the window. True enough, there was a black Rolls Royce with a tall blonde man standing by the back passenger side door. He was incredibly tall, easily a foot taller than Jim (though Jim had only been a few inches taller than me), with a scar running down his face, crossing his eye. For someone who was a chauffeur, he was wearing ragged jeans and a black t-shirt. A lit cigarette hung out of his mouth, the smoke curling into the sky. "Well," I said, slightly relieved that I could leave, even if it was with a somewhat-shady looking man, "I'll be going then." 

 

      I walked out the door quickly, and as I left, I heard Sherlock mutter to himself, "I swear I've seen that man before..." 

 

     As I approached the car, the man took the cigarette from his mouth and held it in one held, the other opened the door for me. "Lacie Fowell, I presume." He said as I stepped into the car. 

 

     "Yes." I waited until he got in before asking his name in return. "And you are?" 

 

     "Not important." He said gruffly, distinguishing the cigarette in an ash tray that was settled into a cup holder. 

 

     "Oh." Was all I said as he started the car, and we pulled away from 221c Baker street, and out into the streets of London. The rest of the trip was in silence, and around twenty minutes later we pulled up to a fancy restaurant. As I stepped out of the car, I noticed the name. Sherlock was right, it was  _La Margeties._  The man (who I was pretty sure by now was  _not_  a real chauffeur) escorted me inside, until we reached the maitre d'. 

 

     "Table for two?" The prim man who was standing behind the podium asked, wrinkling his nose up at my companion and his clothing choices for the incredibly posh restaurant. 

 

     I was glad that the blonde man knew what to say, because I had no idea. "She's with Moriarty." He nudged me closer to the maitre d', who immediately perked up at the name. Straightening his shoulders and dusting a piece of what I assumed was invisible dust off of his shirt, the maitre d' gestured for me to follow him. I did so, glancing back at the man who had driven me here, but he was already walking out the large glass doors and back to the car. 

     I marveled at the decoration and incredible detail in the dining room of  _La Margeties._  Everything seemed to be themed in gold, cream, and red. I couldn't help but stare at the vaulted ceiling, decorative pillars "holding" it up that were carved with cherubs, flowers, and other gorgeous designs. As I was led through the dining room, I noticed that the farther away from the main doors, the fewer people were there. It wasn't until we reached the end of the dining room and I didn't see Jim that I began to wonder if I had been stood up, if that was possible. I mean, he had supplied a vehicle to drive me here. Why would he go through all that trouble and not show up? 

     The maitre d' stopped in front of a cream colored wall, and I noticed an artfully designed door that was meant to be hard to spot in the wall. The maitre d' opened the door, and waved an arm to let me know that I was allowed to go through. As soon as I did, he shut the door behind me. I'll admit that in that moment, I panicked a bit. When I reassured myself that I hadn't been left alone, I decided to survey my surroundings.

     I was in a very short hallway with a red carpet, and similar design to the main dining room, with the exception of several (what looked like  priceless) paintings and mirrors on the walls. The hallway ended in a set up curving stairs that wouldn't allow me to see what was up them without going up. Clutching my little black purse in both hands in front of me, I slowly climbed the stairs, wondering what I would find at the top. 

     I didn't have to walk very long before the stairs opened up into a solar-dome, the glass revealing a 360 degree view of the the London skyline. The stars were out, with a huge full moon lighting up the night sky, and I was stunned at the beauty. There were numerous lit candles resting in candle holders that were attacked to the metal framework of the glass done, creating an incredible scene. The dome was lit by the candlelight, just enough that you could see, but it added a romantic mood to the scene. 

     Near the far edge of the dome was a table set for two, covered in a cream tablecloth, with the normal wine glasses and other utensils already on the table. A small glass with a single red rose resided at the edge of the table, and the man I had decided to meet was sitting in one of the seats, lounging against it, and gazing at me intently. 

     He stood to greet me, and I could see that he had taken care in choosing his outfit ("Sherlock was right again", I cursed inwardly). He was dressed in a black suit, I could tell it was custom made by the way it fit him like a black glove. He had a dark blue silk tie, and I wondered if he had chosen that tie to match with my hair, or if it was just coincidence. He had on black (was that alligator skin?) shoes, and though I had a feeling that what he was wearing was worth a small fortune, he wore no watches or rings of any type. 

     He walked towards me, and I gave him a smile, feeling butterflies in my stomach. Jim bowed elegantly (should I curtsy?), and took my hand, giving it a light kiss while looking into my eyes. I could feel my face heat up, and knew I was blushing. He straightened out of his bow, and led me by hand to the table. As I sat down, a waiter came by, requesting my purse. I handed it to him, and he promptly vanished, leaving Jim and I alone. 

 

     With a smooth grin, he spoke. "You're looking particularly ravishing tonight, Lacie." 

 

     I rolled my eyes, a reaction I guessed he was not expecting, because I saw the grin flicker a bit, and what I thought was a flash of anger in his dark eyes, but any sign of it vanished immediately."Considering you've only seen me in my work clothes, Jim, I would think I would look better now." As I joked, I saw the smile return. 

 

     "Yet you looked stunning in them." He said pointedly, and I gave a little chuckle. I saw two waiters enter the room, one carrying wine, while the other held a tray with two silver dome-covered dishes. 

     "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered ahead." Jim stated. 

 

     "Of course I don't mind." I flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't know what to have ordered anyhow." 

 

     The first waiter produced two wine glasses, and poured a rich red wine from the bottle into each of our glasses. Immediately after he did, the second waiter placed the silver platters in front of Jim and I, and then removed the lids. The dish is served to us was a fish dish, I could tell that, but that was all. 

 

     "Its the chef's specialty, wine-poached salmon with black truffle sauce." I took a bite, and instantly my mouth was filled the savory taste of the meal. 

 

     "It's fantastic." I said, and took a small sip of wine. I was a lightweight when it came to any sort of alcoholic beverages, and I wanted to keep my wits about me tonight.

 

     Jim and I ate a few bites of the delicious meal in a slightly awkward silence, before he spoke again. "I hope you were pleasantly surprised by my choice of restaurant, Lacie."

 

     I frowned, and Jim instantly took on an insulted look. "I  _would_  have been surprised if not for my annoyingly correct smart ass of a neighbor." It was at the mention of Sherlock that Jim grew more content. I could tell that Jim changed emotions quickly. 

 

     "Oh?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

 

     "I live in the apartment under Sherlock Holmes," I rolled my eyes as I spoke the next bit, "the world's only consulting detective." I took a sip of wine. "And that's how he introduced himself, if you care to believe it." 

 

     "Oh, I very much do believe it..." He said softly, so much so that if I hadn't been paying attention I would have missed it. "And how did you first meet this Sherlock Holmes?"

 

     "He had several severed body parts shipped to my apartment the week before I had moved in, and then had promptly forgotten about them. I opened my door to the lovely smell of rotting flesh and the sight of six decaying feet lying on the floor." I wrinkled my nose, still remembering the stench. Jim chuckled. 

     "I told my landlady, Mrs. Hudson, and she demanded that Sherlock clean it up and apologize. He did neither, and instead chose to repeat my life's story to me while his flatmate John cleaned it up and apologized." 

 

     "It sounds like a lovely welcome party." Jim joked, and I laughed. "I noticed when we met that you're Welsh," He took a sip of wine, and then continued. "Why would a lovely lady such as yourself move from the beautiful land of Wales to London?" 

 

     "Says the Irishman." I teased. "In all honesty, it was my mother's idea." I paused, my cheerful mood slightly dampened by the mention of my mother. "She wanted to move to London and become a famous singer when she was my age, and because of an accident she was in not long after I was born, she was unable to realize that dream." Jim motioned for me to continue, so I did. "Her accident left her with a weakened immune system, and last year, she became sick. She got better, of course, but she insisted that I move from Cardiff and instead to London, to become an artist there instead of in Cardiff. She wanted to live her dream through me, and I didn't have any sort of relationships keeping me in Cardiff other than her, so I decided to move to London." 

 

    He seemed to focus on how I wanted to be an artist, and changed the topic. "You sketch people on the street," He stated simply. "Is that what you want to do?" 

 

     "I enjoy it, but I have much bigger plans. Right now I'm just doing it as a way to give me time to work on earning enough to open my own gallery in London." Jim seemed genuinely interested, so I continued. "I normally just do sketches during the day, but it's  once I've stopped working outside that I actually get any of my real work done. I've got several oil paintings I'm working on right now, and a few drawings." 

     Not wanting to hog the conversation, I turned the focus towards him. "What do you do, Jim?" 

 

     A wolf-like smile grew on his face, and his dark eyes held a hint of mirth. He leaned forward, his long fingers intertwined, holding his head up. "Do you want a carefully constructed lie that wouldn't frighten you, or the  _real_  answer?" 

 

     I wondered if this was a trick, because why would anyone lie about their job, unless it was something deliciously dark, or embarrassing. Judging from the way Jim had looked the first time I saw him, and how he has acted since then, I felt confident that it was former. "The real answer." I said decidedly. 

 

     "The world's only consulting criminal, Jim Moriarty, at your service." He tipped an imaginary hat to me. 

 

     "That sounds similar to a consulti-" I started, but Jim cut me off with a fierce look.

 

     "It's  _nothing_  similar to a  _consulting detective_ , " He said, spitting the words like it was venom. "It's much better than that." 

 

     "Ah." I said in reply to his fierce reaction to my comparison to him and my consulting detective of a neighbor. "And what exactly does the job of a consulting criminal imply?"

 

     "Seeing as I created it the job, whatever I please." He paused. "It means whenever people are out of their depth- which is quite often- they call me. 'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?'" He said in a mocking, falsetto voice. 

      Jim looked at me expectedly, and there were no clues in his face as to how I should respond. I suppose I took too long mulling over in my mind what he had said, because he gave me what he thought was a helpful tip. "This is the part where you run away screaming in fear." He stage whispered to me. 

 

     "Why?" I asked, raising the wine glass to my lips. I gave a sly smile before I took a sip. "Everyone loves a good-old fashioned villain." This was true, I had always had a soft spot for villains and bad guys. What people called the "wrong sort", the "dangerous" type. Of course, a rough looking man was completely different from the man who sat across from me. This man oozed excitement and danger, appeared classy, deadly, and sexy all in one package. He tempted me, and I had always been awful at resisting temptation. 

 

     "You seem to keep surprising me, Lacie Fowell." Jim visibly relaxed. "You seem like the woman who wants the sensitive, song writing, poetry quoting, type of man." He raised an eyebrow, "I have none of those qualities."

 

     "I don't believe I ever said I wanted a poetry-quoting man, Jim. Besides, who says that after tonight, I'll let you be around long enough to want look for my ideal qualities in you?" 

 

     He playfully gave a sad frown. "And here I was, thinking that we had a meaningful connection. I am deeply wounded.... How many other men have you crushed the hearts of, Lacie?" 

 

     "I would think that a  _consulting criminal_  would have a bit thicker skin." I joked back. 

 

     "It takes a beautiful woman to wound me as you did." Jim made a gesture, and the plates that held our dinner were swished away, and replaced with another dish. 

 

     "Calisson!" I exclaimed, clasping my hands together excitedly as I looked at the desert that had been placed in front of Jm and I. The oval shaped, yellow, candied melon pastry looked fantastic, topped in what I assumed what the classical white royal icing. A few pieces of crushed almond decorated the icing. 

 

     "You know this treat?"

 

     I grinned, thinking of fond memories. "My mother loved making calisson. She said it reminded her of sunshine."

 

    "I hope this measures up to your expectations then." 

 

     We spent the rest of the meal talking and laughing, and I regretted that the evening would end soon. Afterwards, he escorted me out to the car were the man who had driven me there was waiting. Jim held the door open for me, and we both got in. 

 

     "We'll be heading to Lacie's, Sebby."

 

     'Sebby' made a grunt that I assumed meant yes, because the car started and we continued down the road. Looking over at Jim with a raised eyebrow, I questioned "Sebby?" 

 

     He smirked as he replied. "Sebastian, my right hand man and loyal protector." He rested his warm hand on my thigh, and I leaned towards him.

 

     "Ah...."

 

      We arrived at my street, and Jim told Sebastion to pull over, even though we were still half a block away from my apartment. "We'll walk from here, Seb." Sebastion pulled over to the curb, and Jim and I exited the car. We walked up on the sidewalk, and continued on our way. I wasn't sure if it was a romantic idea to walk, or if the decision had an ulterior motive. We walked in silence, and as we did so, our hands brushed across each other occasionally. Feeling slightly brazen, the next time his hand brushed across mine, I gently grabbed it. I prayed that he wouldn't look down at me, because I could feel the heat coming off of my blushing face. When did I get so shy that just simply holding hands with a man made me blush like an innocent schoolgirl? Though, I reasoned with myself, this was no ordinary man. This was Jim Moriarty, the man who I believed might actually rule the world. Did I mention that he looked fantastic in his suit?

 

     When we arrived at the door to my apartment, I hesitated, and I could tell that Jim noticed it. "I have tea, if you'd like some."

 

     "As much as I would love to be invited inside for some tea, I fear that I have several important meetings I have to be at in the morning, and I don't want to be out too late." He winked. "Sebastion might worry." 

 

     "O..of course!" I stammered out. 

 

     "Though I may not be able to have tea, I would have time for something as simple as a goodnight kiss...." He leaned toward me, his arm reaching up over me and pushing against the wooden door that was the entrance of my apartment, backing me up against the wall. His head lowered towards me, and my breath caught in my throat. He lowered his lips to mine, and I could feel the slightly itchy scruff of his 5 o'clock shadow on my face as he teased me with a chaste kiss. 

     Even if the kiss was the gentle, chaste kiss that was designed be polite, I could feel my heart race. Feeling bold, I reached my hands up and tugged his head towards me, wanting so much more than a simple kiss on the lips. He took this as an approval and began to truly kiss me with passion, opening my mouth slightly and darting his tongue in to greet mine. With a new wave of passion, I began to kiss him back with as much passion that he kissed me with.

            I felt the world shift some, and then the feeling of hard wood against my back as he pressed me against the door, hungrily claiming my mouth as his. I pressed myself against him, and clutched some of his dark hair in my hands as his mouth moved from mine, and down towards my neck, trailing kisses. I leaned my head to give him more access, and he lustily spoke.

 

    "Meetings can wait....."

 

     I pulled back, his passion filled eyes gazing into mine, which is as sure reflected the same passion and lust as his were. "Good, because I don't think this can..." I turned around, and fumbled with the lock for a moment before I successfully pried the door open. As soon as we managed to stumble into the apartment, Jim shut the door behind us, both of us occupied on removing the clothing from the other. 

 

       I slid his jacket off, and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. "Did I mention," as I continued I forcibly unbuttoned a button, emphasizing my words, "I...fucking...love...your...suits....!" I tore the last two buttons off in my haste, and he immediately began to strip me of my clothes in return. We stumbled into my bedroom, and tumbled onto the bed. 

 

Oh yes, I thought eagerly, I definitely made the right choice in texting Jim Moriarty. 

 


	5. The Asparagus Trade

  I felt fantastic when I awoke the next morning, waking to the warmth of the sun beaming in through the lone window I had in my bedroom. I stretched, feeling my tired muscles lengthen and as I stirred, I felt a slight ache that reminded me of last nights events. I grinned, remembering Jim's attentive touch and pleasurable love-making. If that was how great sex felt, I definitely needed to get laid more often... preferably by Jim. I wasn't a virgin by any measure, but even my few past boyfriends hadn't been able to cause a fire in me the way Jim had. 

     It was only then that I realized that my bed was oddly empty and I sat up, holding one of my pale blue bed sheets up to my chest, that I realized that Jm wasn't there. I ran my hand over other side of the bed, the side that Jim would have lain on after our.... Activities the night before, to find that it was ice cold. He had left long ago then, I surmised. A brief glance at the clock told me that it was nearing 11 o'clock in the afternoon, and I was surprised that I had slept that long. 

     I stood up and wrapped myself in the lavender cotton robe that was lying on a chair in the corner of my bedroom, and walked out into the living room. I was saddened that Jim wasn't there when I woke up, but I consoled myself with the fact that he must have had a good reason for not staying. "Or," piped up that paranoid voice in my head, "he thought you were a bad lay and didn't want to see you again." I shook my head to rid myself of my unwelcome thoughts as I shuffled through the living room and into the kitchen. 

     It was only when I closed the fridge door that I noticed the note stuck onto the door by a magnet. I set the milk I had grabbed out of the fridge onto the counter, and then took the note off to read it. Sitting down at my wooden kitchen table, I unfolded the note that had my name written on it in a meticulous, yet sloppy, scrawl.

_Lacie,_

_I'll start this by saying that I already regret not being there when you awoke. Unfortunately, there were several important people that I could not stand up, no matter how much I wanted to be with you instead. I'll call you when I manage to get a minute._

 

_-Jim Moriarty-_

I felt myself grin like an idiot at his note. My preexisting doubts of Jim abandoning me vanished immediately as the thought of seeing him again arose in my mind. My thoughts lingered on Jim and our date the night before as I began to make myself a bowl of cereal to eat for my lunch. Munching on my off-brand frosted flakes, I decided that I would spend the day inside working on some of my personal artwork, which I planned to sell when I managed to get into a gallery. I finished my meal and showered and changed into some of my "art" clothes, stained jeans and a plain white tank top littered with splotches of color, before I set up my things in my living room.

      The painting I was working on at the moment (I constantly have 3-5 paintings I'm working on) was of  a ballerina with a short, reddish-pink outfit. She was in middle of a spin framed in the middle of the painting, surrounded by a black and red background. I was currently working on painting the details of her ballet shoes and the wave patterns of her skirt when I stopped last, so I continued from there. If I did the shadows, shading, and intricate details perfectly, I believed that this would be one of the best pieces in my collection.   **(The painting I based Lacie's off of is called "The Passion of Dance- by Drew Jacoby, I'd post a link but it was very long and would be hard to put back into the Internets, so google if you want.)**

I turned on my CD player and let the fantastic sounds of AC/DC's completed works play as I began to paint. I continued my work carefully, applying the delicate details with my knife as I worked, stopping occasionally to change my paint colors. I had a feeling that if I was uninterrupted, I would work well into the night and possibly even finish before I headed off to bed. 

 

 

* * *

 

JIM'S POV

 

 

     Jim Moriarty was bored. Not the normal type of boredom that normal people feel when they have nothing to do, but rather the mind numbing boredom of a man who constantly needs something to stimulate his mind. For Jim, being bored was a mortal sin. When he got bored, he would quickly work to fix the problem. Some days felt like bank robbing days, while others felt like smuggling days. Sometimes he would play a game, what he liked to call the "Pretend to be another person and pick up women at various places" game, which was always fun for the night. When he didn't have Sebastion out doing something for him, and when Sebastion was in the mood, they would play a game where they would both hit on the same woman, and then see which of them she would go with. Sometimes Sebastion won, which Jim believed was because of his "bad boy" attitude, and other times Jim would win, easily manipulating and charming the woman. Any of these games were fun, and right now, Jim was not having fun, and Jim was bored. 

 

      "Because of the shortage of asparagus, I'm estimating profits of over 12.4 million within the first year." Jim was jolted back into reality as the tall, incredibly skinny man before him finished his "legal" business proposal. The man, Mr.... Yaskmulk..? Yulkmusk..? Jim couldn't remember and didn't really care at this point, stared at him expecting praise and a pat on the head for coming up with such a clever idea such as an illegal  _asparagus_  trade. 

 

     "Mr. Yaskmulk...." Jim began, but was quickly interrupted. 

 

      "Call me Jordon, all my other business partners do." 

 

     Jim leaned forward and placed his hands steepled in front of him on the classical wooden desk that sat in his office. "Mr. Yaskmulk.... I have to commend you," The man puffed up at this, "for I have had very few people to come with me with an idea as remarkably.... Idiotic!" Jim leaned back and sighed in disappointment. "No one likes asparagus. Your business idea is awful, and you are boring."

 

       "If you just look at the graphs-" 

 

       "Get out."

 

       Mr. Yaskmulk tried to intervene. "The numbers don't lie-"

 

       "If you do not remove yourself from my office immediately, I shall be forced to feed you to the latest shipment of piranhas I have received. Now, I really don't want to do this because I still haven't gotten the leftovers removed from their last meal, and it'd really cause a mess... But don't you dare doubt that I won't do it."

 

       "But-"

 

       Jim stood up, pushing his leather chair back. "SEBASTION!" He shouted, enjoying the way the man before him scrambled to gather his things as his loyal bodyguard entered the room with a confident swagger. 

 

      "You called, Boss?" Sebastion said, fiddling with a small penknife he took from the pocket of his torn black jeans. He looked intimidating, a bored look on his face yet a sharp and attentive look in his eyes as he surveyed the man before him. 

 

     "Mr. Yaskmulk here was just leaving. Make sure he manages to leave the property with most of his body parts still intact. If he gets troublesome, feed him to the fish. Oh, and make sure that the filter in their tank doesn't get clogged again if you do... Awful mess that'd be."

 

     "Gotcha, Boss." Sebastion walked from the room following the nervous man who wished to leave quickly, leaving Jim alone in his office. Jim sat back down, running a mental list through his head as he decided what he would do next. Normally the day would entitle a few jobs he'd have to do, either providing services to one of his more influential clients or having a particularly annoying person removed from service. With a sigh as he thought about the rest of the day ahead of him, filled with annoying and clumsy idiots who had the gall to think he'd be interested in their idiotic schemes, he opened the laptop on his desk, having decided to check his email. 

 

     His inbox had more than a hundred emails, 98% of them from people who had learned of his special skills from a client or by word of mouth, asking for his assistance. The other 2% consisted of short messages from the people he had out on jobs, checking in with him as he had demanded of them, or telling him that they were done or needed more time. Jim clicked on the first email, from a man who had the good sense to not include his real name in the email, and quickly skimmed it. 

 

     " _Dear Jim, I have invested in a business that has gone bankrupt. Collectors are after me, my wife wishes for a divorce, and I recently discovered that the company I work for believes that I have been stealing money from them for years. Coraline told me of your services, and I plead for your services now. I need to disappear, quickly. Contact me back at this email address if you are consider assisting me (not without payment, of course). Sincerely, John Smith"_  


  
Jim deleted the email, he had done more than fifteen "vanishing acts" the month before, and they were beginning to become boring for now. 

 

     " _Dear Jim, I have discovered that my husband continues to have affairs with multiple women. Can you make it so he is mugged and injured severely enough that he doesn't survive the attack? I am willing to split his life insurance with you, 90%-10%. I just want him gone. Sincerely, Katie Lee"_  


  
A cheating husband mugged and left wounded enough that he dies on the way to the hospital? Even if he wasn't offered a very generous 90% share of the soon-to-be deceased man's money, he would accept the job. He enjoyed the complicated set-ups that the job offered, and saved the email in a folder dedicated to jobs he would accept. The next hour and a half passed with him sorting through the requests, declining and accepting job offers, emailing the clients back with his prices, and assigning the many people he had in his service to each job. He made sure to point out in each email back to any client asking for a quick "removal" of a person that the "disappearance" would happen within a week, or three months. 

     It was through experience that Jim learned to not inform the client of the time range that their service would be provided, due to several previous clients not acting their part in everything (the grieving widow, the shocked fiancé, etc) which lead to their arrest and their confession of where they acquired his services. He never got caught, of course, but it was quite annoying to arrange for the certain squealer to meet a mysterious end in jail. After doing that chore, he prepared himself for another round of idiots who would be coming in soon to request his finances, help, or advice in whatever scheme they were plotting. 

     With a sigh, he glanced at the ornate antique clock that rested above his mantel-place in his large study. He would be lucky if he finished all the work before midnight, and it he knew it would be impossible to finished before 10 o'clock, (he had discovered that normal people tended to retire before then on weeknights) and therefore he would have to contact the young lady who had captured his attention in the morning. It was a good thing that he never specified a time he would call on that parting note, he mused. 

 

     His thoughts were interrupted as a brazen woman strode into his office, intent on claiming his time. "Jim Moriarty," The woman held out her hand to Jim, who declined to take it. "It's a pleasure to meet with you to discuss my business proposal." 

 

     Jim leaned back in his chair and rolled his disdained eyes at her cheery attitude. "Get on with it." He commanded. Yes, it was going to be a very long day.

 

* * *

     It was nearing 2:30 a.m when I decided that I would take another break, and change the CD in my CD player. My first break had been at dinner time, but I had only stopped to change the CD to something more classical (Bach) and to make some tea. The second had been five hours later, resulting in more tea and the music of Voltaire. The third was the break I was taking now, which I had a feeling would result in even more tea, and the music of an American band, Good with Grenades. 

     I heated up the kettle, a comical thing that looked like a rooster, while I dug into my extensive music collection for the CD I was looking for. I switched out CDs, and lounged around the kitchen while I waited for the kettle to come to a boil. It was only a few seconds into my break when I heard my phone ringing from it's place in my living room. I wondered who would be calling this late at night/early in the morning, and I answered the call before my ringtone could get through the first playing of the Doctor Who theme song (I should probably fix that... I already get enough odd looks as it is), and answered. 

 

     "Lacie Fowell here." I balanced the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I took the kettle off the flame. 

 

     "You answered rather quickly. Did I wake you?" I heard the smoothly accented voice of Jim, and couldn't help but grin. 

 

     "I haven't gone to sleep yet." I continued preparing my tea. "And it seems to me that you were trying to wake me." 

 

     "Or I knew you were awake and just wanted to be polite." He retorted. 

 

     "I'm guessing it was the former, not the latter." I poured my tea into the mug I used for tea, accidentally dropping the phone during the process. It clattered on the floor, and I quickly snatched it up again. 

 

     "Should I be worried over the abnormal sounds of thumping from your end, Lacie? Or do you regularly throw things about when on the phone?"

 

     "I was making tea and I dropped the phone. Besides, I only chuck things around when I'm practicing ballet." I joked.

 

     Jim chuckled. "Making tea at 2:40 in the morning? Is this a habit I'm going to have to suffer through?" 

 

     "You're also awake, Jim..." I took my tea back into the living room and sat down at my normal chair. "I was working on something, and haven't lost the motivation for it yet."

 

     "Painting, or drawing then." He deduced. "Is it correct to assume that you have yet to stop and eat dinner?"

 

     "I had tea at ten..." I mumbled, feeling somewhat like a chastised child. 

 

     "Then I'll be over shortly with takeout. Chinese, or Thai?" Stated Jim. I was beginning to noticed that he didn't ask permission for a lot of things. I guess it really was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, though I couldn't see him asking for forgiveness either. 

 

     "There isn't going to be a Chinese or Thai place open at three a.m, Jim." 

 

     "They'll open for me, they always do." He commented in a smug tone, and I realized that they must have requested his assistance with something at some point. 

 

     "Chinese then... I'll leave the door unlocked, just come on in." 

 

     "Like I wouldn't." I could almost sense the cheekiness through the phone. "Be over shortly." 

 

     "See you then, Jim." He commented back the same, and hung up. I figured I had at least ten to twenty minutes before Jim showed up, so I sat back at my easel, thinking I could do a little more work before he showed up. I suppose I got too involved in my work, because it seemed like only a few minutes had passed when I smelt the aroma of Chinese takeout enter the room, and before I could greet him, I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist, and a chin rest itself on the top of my head. 

 

     "Good morning." I heard that lovely Irish voice say. 

 

     "You're going to get paint all over yourself, Jim..." I warned. He responded by dipping his head down next to mine, and giving me a chaste peck on the cheek, before whispering into my ear. 

 

     "Well then, you'd just have to clean me up then, wouldn't you?" I could feel myself blush a bit, and I unwound myself from his arms so I could place my brushes into their respective jars of cleaning alcohol, and turned to give him a proper greeting. I noticed his attention less focused on me, and more on the painting behind me. "Your latest masterpiece, I presume?" 

 

     "If I can get the shoes done right, then you presume correctly." His dark eyes met my lighter green ones, and I suddenly felt warm. 

 

     "I brought food," He motioned to my coffee table which sat in front of my couch, a cheap thing I had bought before I realized it didn't match anything else in my whole apartment, where the bags of food sat. 

 

     It was at the sight and the delicious smell that I realized how hungry I was. "Good, I feel like I'll faint if I don't eat something." I joked as I took a seat besides him on the couch.

 

     "That wouldn't do," He said as he pulled the various cartons and set them up. "You'd want to be awake later..." He left the sentence unfinished, and I grasped his meaning. 

 

     "Yes," I agreed as I took a bite of some sort of delicious chicken in sauce, "The best way to woo a woman is through food at three in the morning." I winked saucily, and he laughed. After a few minutes of eating, I asked what had him up so early. 

 

     "Business. I had several hours worth of idiots wanting me to invest in whatever moronic idea they thought would make money." Jim rolled his eyes at me. "One particularly bad session involved a man who wanted me to help him smuggle asparagus into China." I gasped in mock horror and he smiled. "That's not even the worst. Last year, I had a woman want me to help fund a breeding program for crickets." 

 

     We laughed together as Jim told me about the dumb ideas that people had come to him with, the conversation lasting long after the food was gone. Eventually the conversation died as well (kill by an impromptu snog on the couch), which turned into another few bouts of fantastic activity that took place in my bedroom. It was as the sun was rising that we fell asleep, both of us exhausted from our long day, and from our rambunctious activity. 


	6. Rubber Duckies, Charcoal, and a Donkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's Miggles again.   
> I'd like to make a quick explanation of something...   
> In all my stories, unless I specify otherwise, everyone is having safe-sex. I'm not going to go out and say it each time, because that's annoying and I'm lazy. No one is going to get "accidentally" pregnant or anything unless it is part of the plot line, so.... just thought I'd clear that up before I got some angry reviews or something about how I was advocating unsafe sex and such.

     Jim was still there when I woke up. I'm not sure if I was more surprised by this, or by the blatant fact that we were...cuddling. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I don't like to cuddle. I do, I'm all for a huddle of love and warmth...but I didn't think the Mighty Jim Moriarty was the cuddling type. After I woke up, I was content to just lay there, wrapped in both sheets and his fantastic arms. If given the chance, I think I would have stayed there forever. But alas, fate is a fickle thing that likes to mess with me. Perhaps my awakening had roused him somehow, or perhaps the universe was just conspiring against me (and this early in the morning, too!), but the shifting of weight in the bed told me that Jim had woken up as well. 

     

      The deep, even breathing that had tickled my ear changed, and a few seconds later, I felt Jim's arms pull me closer than we had been before. "Good morning, Lacie..." He murmured. 

 

     I turned so that I was facing him, and gave him a chaste peck on the lips. "A good morning to you too." I replied, smiling. 

 

     "What are my chances," He asked, ducking his head close and resting it on my shoulder, "turning a good morning into a good all day?" 

 

     "It depends on how you hope to accomplish that." 

 

     "Hmm...." Looking at me, Jim smiled mischievously. "My plans would include ignoring work and the rest of the world outside this bed...." He suddenly frowned. "Damn..."

 

     "What?" I asked, blushing slightly.

 

     "I forgot I had to meet a man about a donkey..." The wonderful day he had suggested seemed to disappear beneath the amount of work he realized he actually couldn't ignore. "And that religious leader who wanted to buy a brothel..." His frown deepened. "And the woman who needs a plane... and a meeting with the Queen's guard dogs..." 

 

     "Now now," I comforted, giving him a cheerful grin. "This won't be the last time we'll have this opportunity." 

 

     He raised his eyebrows and gave a look like a wounded puppy. "All work and no play makes Jim a very boring man..." 

 

     I giggled. "I doubt you could ever be a boring man, Jim... And if I remember correctly, you played last night as well."

 

     "Well... Perhaps more playtime is needed." He retorted, implying some very naughty things. 

 

     "And more playtime you shall have, but only if Jim gets his work done." 

 

     He scowled in a playful manner. "I did not know you were my slave-driver... Here I assumed you were the lovely and sweet Lacie, my girlfriend. But now you show your true colors! Fiend!" He quickly shifted positions so that I was beneath him, as he began to both tickle and kiss me, alternating between the two. 

 

     A few seconds later, we both stopped, breathing hard and looking at each other. I knew instantly that I had to get out of that bed. If I didn't do it then, I knew I would take him up on his offer, and neither of us would get anything (anything being a vague term, I know we'd get  _some_  things done, wink wink) done. Jim sensed this and moved, allowing me freedom. I went to climb out of the bed, but somehow during the night and Jim's tickle torture, I managed to become tangled up in the sheets. In my struggle to get up and untangle myself, I ended up rolling off the bed and onto the floor. 

     Jim peered over the side of the bed and shook his head. His dark eyes sparkled with laughter and he was obviously (and smartly) doing everything he could to keep his lips in a straight line. It didn't last though. I shot him a faux dirty look and he burst out laughing. "Don't say a word!" I warned him. 

 

     "I wouldn't dream of it!" 

 

     I managed a civilized crawl over my fuzzy bathrobe that I had discarded on a chair in the corner, and shrugged it on. Jim watched me from the bed, amused at what I considered my hideous clumsiness. I began to walk towards the door of my bedroom, when he spoke up again, a glorious eyebrow arched saucily.

 

     "Where are you off to?" He questioned.

 

     I called back over my shoulder as I exited the room. "To make breakfast, of course." I imagined that he looked amused, though I knew I could cook eggs and toast. That wasn't very difficult, and it was the polite thing to do, right? "How do you like your eggs?" I shouted back to him, where I heard him rustling around in my room. I hoped he wasn't scrounging around through my things. 

 

     "Mmhmm…" I heard noise coming from my living room, and turned around to find Jim Moriarty walking around in his pants, admiring and examining the room. He ignored my question in favor of shifting the books in my bookshelf around. 

 

     "You can snoop later… Food is first." 

 

     He placed copy of Les Miserables back into it's place on my bookshelf as he spoke. "What are my choices?"

 

     "Scrambled…" I struggled to think of what else I could make eggs into. "Scrambled, and Scrambled." I finished lamely. 

 

     "I think I'll have scrambled then." He turned around, a lingering smile on his face. I continued to watch the eggs, to keep them from burning. However, in my good intentions to keep eggs from burning, I was alerted to smell of burnt toast coming from my toaster. 

 

     "Bollocks!" I cursed as I quickly pulled the remaining fragments of burnt bread out of my toaster. 

 

     "Ahh," He teased as he walked over to me, examining the remains of the toast, "Is it common in Wales to make charcoal with your eggs?" 

 

     "Oi," I said as I trashed the toast, and put a few new pieces into the toaster, "Watch yourself. I could also burn your eggs, and then where would you be? No eggs, no toast..." I took the eggs off the stove as they were done, and slid them onto a large plate and placed it in the middle of my wooden kitchen table. "Well… the eggs are done…" I gestured towards my cabinets. "Plates and cups and things other stuff that you eat with is somewhere in there. Help yourself, I have juice in the fridge." I stood in front of the toaster, keeping an eye out on it. It would not burn this time. 

 

     "Which holds the mugs?" He questioned from somewhere behind me. 

 

     "Uhm…" I turned around and gestured towards the entirety of my cabinets. "They should be in there."

 

     "You just pointed at your entire kitchen, Lacie…"

 

     "Exactly. I know they're in here, but not where." Jim raised an eyebrow at my comment, and I went back to watching the toast, which was just now starting to turn golden brown.

 

     "You don't know where you put your own dishes?"

 

     I shrugged. "I really don't cook much. Things get moved to cabinets, I forget them."

 

     "It's a wonder you haven't died out of neglect." He mumbled, and I heard the shuffling and opening of closing of cabinets as he looked for the elusive mugs. 

 

     "I haven't been here  _that_  long, it's common to misplace things."

 

     "You have a rubber duck sitting in this cabinet, along with a green scarf, and your mugs." He commented in a dry voice, but I could hear the smirk lurking behind his words.

 

     "I've been looking for that scarf…" I took the toast out of the toaster and placed it on another plate along with butter and jelly, and set it on the table as well. He had been busy while I had been watching the toast, and had managed to find and set plates and silverware in both our seats. As I was placing the plate down, he walked over with the mugs in his hands, each holding orange juice.

 

     "Your milk is expired." Jim sat himself down at the table and began helping himself to food. I joined him, shocked at his statement of the milk I knew was fresh.

 

     "What? No. I just bought it last week." 

 

     "It says it expired two weeks ago." 

 

     "Then I must have bought it last month..." I began doing simple math in my head. "Today's Thursday, right? That means I did groceries...." I frowned. "It's too damn early in the morning to try and do math!" I exclaimed as I gave up.

 

     He rolled his warm brown eyes exaggeratedly. "Pathetic." 

 

     "I'm bad with time." I shrugged, using that as my excuse for a lack of semi-organized...anything.

 

     "You're a bad cook," I protested as he began listing things, "You're bad with time, organizing things, and you seem clumsy." He grinned. "Am I missing anything?"

 

     "You only listed the things I'm bad at!" I pouted, feeling justly denied the pleasure of my good qualities. "I can make noodles and some foods…." 

 

     He chuckled, then gave me a devilish smirk. "I know several things you are good at as well." 

 

     I wrinkled my nose at him. "Too late, the damage has already been done to my self-confidence. Forever I shall judge myself and feel inadequate." 

 

     "Don't worry dear, next to me, everyone feels inadequate." 

 

     "And that's as modest as he gets." I joked. 

 

     Jim paused in the middle of eating. "And it's Monday, not Thursday." I could see him trying to hold back peals of laughter that were silently shaking his body. 

 

     "Oh god... I  _am_  pathetic." I groaned and covered my face with my hands, somewhat embarrassed at my utter lack of competence.

 

     His silent laughter turned into a full blown affair when I peeked through my fingers in despair. I rolled my eyes at him, and couldn't help but begin to giggle as well, his laugh was growing infectious. When Jim's laughter died away, he spoke again, sighing dramatically. "You're lucky you're cute, or you would have been eaten alive by now." He went back to his meal and I did as well, but as I ran his words through my head again I couldn't help but let out another small giggle. 

 

     "Did I miss a joke?" He questioned. 

 

     I giggled again. "You said I'd be eaten alive by now, and here I am.. eating breakfast with the Big bad Wolf." 

 

     "That could also have been take in another context..." He winked, and I felt my cheeks redden as I realized the hidden innuendo, and he just laughed at my expression. 

 

     The rest of our breakfast pasted in the same manner, with plenty of witty remarks, teasing, and flirting thrown in. It had been a very long time since I had such a fantastic type of easy flowing conversation with anyone, the last to have been my mom a short while before I moved. Conversation continued as we piled the dirty dishes into the sink (I planned on doing them later, but Jim persuaded me to do them now, on the condition that he dried), and turned to our hobbies and books. 

 

     "You know, " I said as I handed him a freshly washed plate to dry, "you haven't really told me anything about yourself." 

 

     "I have too." 

 

     "Yes, you told me what you did for a living, and what French philosophers were your favorites. That really doesn't count as tangible information." 

 

     "Fine then... A question for a question." He stacked the plates into a cabinet that had other plate-like objects in it.

 

     "Seems fair." 

 

     "Why blue?" He questioned, and I immediately understood what he was asking. 

 

     "I was shopping for a personal birthday gift on my 23rd birthday, and I passed this hair salon, and decided to go for it. Walked in, and gave the lady ultimate control over my hair. She did not misguide me, thank god." I passed him another dish. "Why consulting criminal?" 

 

     "Boredom." 

 

     "Ah ah ahh..." I shook my soapy finger at him. "No short answers, it's part of the rules." 

 

     "You never said that before." 

 

     "I just added it, now continue." 

 

     "I may be blessed with the physique of a god," I rolled my eyes at his modesty "but I was blessed and cursed with a mind virtually unparalleled to any other in the world. Therefore, I tend to be bored more than the normal person, which eventually lead to the scraggly beginning of my now successful empire." 

 

     "That's a pretty strange reason to become practically ruler of most of the world." 

 

     "Someone's been doing research, I see."  


 

     "Thank goodness for Google." I handed him a mug, which he started drying immediately. 

 

     "My turn to ask now..." He pondered for a moment. "First Pet?" 

 

     It was my turn to raise an eyebrow now. "Odd question." 

 

     "I don't really feel like exploring deep into your complicated and very long past at the moment."

 

     I turned to him, hands on my hips, and stared in exaggerated shock. "Did you just call me  _old?_ "

 

     "Answer..." He reminded me, rolling his eyes at my mock offense.

 

     "I had a cockatoo when I seven named Mr. Squawkers. Favorite color?

 

     "Blue... wait... no... green. Ahn..." He paused for a moment. "Purple, definitely."

 

     "Someone's indecisive." I commented as we finished the last dish. I noted the time on my kitchen clock, 9:47 a.m. "What time was that donkey meeting at again?"

 

     "Dunno, Sebby takes care of it." He shrugged, and at the moment "Stayin' Alive" began playing from his phone, discarded on the floor of my bedroom. He sighed dramatically. "Speak of the devil, and he shall appear." Jim gave me a wink and left to grab his phone, as I meandered out into my living room and slung myself onto the couch. 

     "Sebastion summons me home. Says I need to  _presentable_  by eleven, so I suppose I shall be departing." I don't know how he managed to do it in such a short time, but he was dressed again in the jeans and the black t-shirt that he had arrived at my home in. 

 

     I stood up to give him a kiss, "Have fun on the walk of shame." 

 

     "Ahh, trust me on this... There was no shame." He commented as he sauntered out of my flat, the door shutting behind him with a resolute click. 

 

     "Why would you even need a donkey anyhow?" I questioned to myself. Jim Moriarty was a strange one, indeed. 


	7. The British Government & The Sugar Thief

     Three short, brisk taps came from my front door, and I set down the cleaning rag and the bottle of cleaning fluid that I had been using, and walked to the door, stopping in front of the mirror to make sure I didn't look too unpresentable. After Jim left, I had been inspired to clean up my kitchen (now neatly organized), and that had spread into the living room, and to the surrounding areas. Thankful that I wasn't covered in dust and other things, I opened the door to find a tall man standing in front of it, looking both imposing and important. I immediately felt self-conscious in my purple leggings and my fourteen-sizes-too-big cleaning shirt, and hoped that this man had the wrong house and was not looking for me. 

 

     "Lacie Fowell." The man stated, tapping his umbrella on the floor impatiently. 

 

      _Damn_ , I thought to myself,  _he couldn't have chosen a worse day to show up here. My flats a mess!_  


     "And you are?" I asked, not letting him in. He could, after all, be a murderer… But murderers don't wear expensive three-piece suits normally, do they?

 

     "Mycroft Holmes," He didn't extend his hand, and I didn't extend mine. "Older brother of your upstairs neighbor… Sherlock. May I come in?"

 

     I gritted my teeth. Anything involving Sherlock normally didn't end very well. "Of course." I moved out of the way, allowing him entrance to my messy living room. "Don't mind the clutter, I was in the midst of cleaning."  _This cannot get any worse,_  I thought as I cleared a seat off on my couch, piling the papers and sketches that had been sitting there onto another chair. The chair I normally sat in had nothing on it except a blanket, so I threw that down onto the floor, before standing awkwardly. "Tea?"

 

     "That would be lovely, thank you." He took a seat, resting his umbrella against the side of the couch. I hurried into the kitchen and found the remaining tea cups from my used-to-be complete set, and was quickly filled it with lukewarm tea. Thank goodness I had just finished making some before he arrived. I carried the cups out to the living room, setting his in front of him on my semi-clean coffee table, gladdened that it only held rudimentary drawings and not the paint, drawings, and sock that it held before I cleaned. 

 

     "How do you find living beneath my brother, Miss Fowell?" He asked, taking a sip of the tea.

 

     "It's pleasant, though it does get a little… chaotic." I responded, wondering where the conversation was going.

 

     "Sherlock probably doesn't speak of me very often, if at all, so I feel I must inform you that I take the utmost care to ensure that he doesn't get into too much trouble… He tends to cause quite the messes."

 

     "I understand. If I had a younger sibling who acted as he did, I would be trying to watch out for him as well." I said politely. "Was there something you wished to talk to me about, Mr. Holmes?" I prayed that there wasn't, this was just a friendly chat about his brother, and that he would leave soon. 

 

     "Actually, there is something I feel the need to discuss with you." He gave a politician's smile. "And please, call me Mycroft."

 

     "Very well, Mr.-Mycroft. I insist you call me Lacie then." He took another sip of his tea, his almost-sharklike eyes examining me and my home as he did so.

 

     "The topic I have come to discuss with you is one that I'm sure you are aware of, a Mr. James Moriarty." Mycroft watched my face, looking for a reaction.

 

     Jim? What did Sherlock's brother have to do with Jim? I kept my face still,  _thank goodness for poker nights with my high school friends…_  "I'm sorry, who?"

 

     "Please don't play games with me, Lacie. I really don't have time to sit here and waste time." He pinched his lips and frowned.

 

     "Why do you want to discuss Jim?" 

 

     "Jim…" Mycroft wrinkled his nose slightly. "James Moriarty is a dangerous man, Lacie." 

 

     "Why are you telling me this?" I asked, not admitting that I already knew the some-what truth about Jim. 

 

     "For safety, but it is not your safety I am concerned with. Rather, it is Sherlock's. You heard of the mysterious bombings that took place several months ago, did you not?" I nodded, trying not to be offended by his obvious lack of care towards me, and my 'safety,' since he  _was_  Sherlock's brother. "Moriarty spent several days leading my brother around on a figurative leash, to play his games. Moriarty would leave clues and riddles for Sherlock to find and solve, with several things as his motivation. The way he received these games would be through the form of a phone call by a person that Moriarty had kidnapped and was using as a messenger. If Sherlock did not solve the puzzle within the time limit allotted, James would detonate the bombs attached to the messenger, and destroy the surrounding area." Mycroft calmly took another sip of his tea, while I sat there stunned. "He resulted in the death of fourteen innocent people during the course of two days. At the end of his game, he almost killed Sherlock and John when they met for the first time."

     "Now can you see my surprise at finding out that the Welsh artist living in the same building as my brother regularly contacts this criminal? Frankly, I was a bit unsure as to how I should remedy this problem, but I have come to the conclusion that if you knew the truth about Moriarty, that you would cease your frivolous activities with him and resume your life as it was before his arrival." 

 

     "And if I don't?"

 

     "Personally, I hope that you will, for if you don't I will have to use some of my other options, and those are not as nice as me coming to discuss it with you." He frowned again.

 

     "I'll have to think about, Mycroft." Another frown, I was surprised that his face didn't get stuck in a perpetual displeased look. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish cleaning."

 

     "Of course." He stood up, buttoning his jacket and picking his umbrella back up. "Do take in mind what I've told you, Lacie. Many people have already been tangled in Moriarty's web, and it would be a shame to have another soul lost in there." He stepped out of my apartment, and without saying a goodbye, vanished out the front door and off into Baker Street. 

 

     I shut the door behind him and began to clean up the things from his impromptu visit. Just as I was beginning to organize the pile of papers in the middle of my living room, my front door was thrown open in a dramatic flurry of blue silk and black curly hair as my upstairs neighbor barged in. He stood in my doorway for a moment, breathing normally though I suspected he had run down the steps in his haste to get here, and I took in the plain pajamas he was wearing with his blue dressing gown. A pair of incredibly fluffy rabbit slippers rested on his feet, and I glanced at them amused. 

 

     "Normally people knock." I sighed, standing up from my place on the floor. It was clear that I was going to have yet another visit from one of the Holmes brothers, and that I wouldn't be getting anything done for quite some time. 

 

     "Do you live in this mess?" Sherlock's light eyes darted around the room, taking in my appearance and the appearance of my less-than-clean home. 

 

     "I was cleaning." 

 

     "Boring." He huffed and flung himself down onto my couch, sending another flurry of things down onto the floor. "Why was Mycroft here?" He demanded rather than asked as I tried to stack the papers he threw to the floor in a more organized manner. 

 

     "I assume it was to visit you." I answered, ignoring his real question. 

 

     "Don't try and be clever, it doesn't suit you." He grabbed a drawing out of the pile I had just stacked and looked at it, twisting it around a few times before he threw it over the back of the couch. He continued gazing at and throwing my sketches behind the couch as I frowned. "His car was parked in front of the building. Black Jaguar, unmarked and untraceable license plates, tinted windows. Mrs Hudson is at her book club, and he didn't come upstairs to visit me or John. Therefore, he must have come to visit you. Now, the true question is why did he visit you?" He glanced at me, where I was slouching in my own chair, having given up trying to clean up after the mess he made. "To offer you his regular deal of money for spying? No,… You've been here for several months, if he was going to make the offer he would have by now. Was he here to seduce you? Unlikely, he has a thing for a certain grey haired man…"

 

     "John let you barge into my flat?"

 

     "I told him I was going out for sugar." He drawled. "I'll be needing sugar when I leave."

 

     "You're in your pajamas and dressing gown. And he let you out like that?"

 

     "He was on his  _blog._  Besides, two weeks ago I went out in my bed sheet to the Palace."

 

     "You went to  _Buckingham Palace_  in a bed sheet!?" I exclaimed.

 

     "Not important, now tell me why my brother was here." He waved his hand distractedly.

 

     "A friendly visit, perhaps." I suggested to him. 

 

     "Highly improbable. The British Government does  _not_  make social calls without an ulterior motive." He rolled his eyes at me. "And what did I just say about not trying to be clever? Please, save me the pain of having to listen to your so-called wit." 

 

     "Yet I have to listen to you." I glared at him. "You barged into the apartment and just made yourself at home without a single kind word, and now you insult me. Anything else to do on your to-do list?"

 

     "I'd like to get some answers sometime soon, Lacie."

 

     "Fine!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air. "Your brother was here to try and convince me to rethink my life choices." Not exactly the truth, but Mycroft had been here to try and persuade me to think about things. 

 

     "Why would  _your_  choices influence him to coming here?" Sherlock said snidely. "The last time I checked, all you do is sit around and doodle." 

 

     "Mycroft was concerned about-" He rudely cut me off. 

 

     "Don't say  _his_  name! And he would never be concerned with anyone other than himself and his precious career." 

 

     "Well, he was worried about me living beneath you. Safety concerns, and all that." I bluffed, hoping that the genius wouldn't see through my semi-lie. 

 

     "He's worried that I might inadvertently cause your death or injury." Mused Sherlock, as he flipped another of my sketches behind the couch. "Not entirely unusual, though normally he prefers a more cloak and dagger method of meeting people. However, you do never seem to leave the building really…. Probably can't get the hermit alone." 

 

     "I'm not a hermit!"

 

     "Of course you aren't. I was making a point. You obviously had company last night and this morning." I didn't bother to ask him how he knew that, because I knew he'd go off on a spiel about how he could tell that by the pastries in the kitchen, or how the lights were arranged, or some other nonsense. 

     In true Sherlock fashion, he seemed to read my mind and answered anyway. "It was the pink sock by the bedroom door, by the way." 

 

     "Yes, thank you." I said tightlipped.

 

     "I'm leaving now." He stood up and walked himself into my kitchen, and I hurried after him. 

 

     "Door's the other way." 

 

     "I still need sugar." He was standing in front of my refrigerator, rooting through it when I got into the kitchen.

 

     I pushed him to the side and shut the fridge door. "Well, sugar is obviously not going to be in there, is it?" 

 

     "Your milk is expired." 

 

     "Yes, I know." I grabbed the container I kept my sugar in and thrust it into his arms and began nudging him towards the door. 

 

     "If you're trying to make cheese or yogurt, you'll need to stir it more." 

 

     "I'm not making yogurt or cheese in my fridge!" I finally managed to shut the door behind him, quickly enough that he wouldn't barge back in, and locked the deadbolt. 

 

     Sinking to the floor with my back against the door, I heard him mumble. "Well, that was rude." 

 

     I laid there for a few minutes, absorbing what the past hour had brought me. A visit from Mycroft warning me about Jim, a visit from Sherlock stealing my sugar and trying to get me to talk about said conversation with Mycroft, and a whole lot of NOT cleaning that I didn't do. I got up and headed back to my work with the goal in mind to finish cleaning before I could be interrupted again. 

     My goal was mostly completed by the time I finished the living room, now all that was left would be my bedroom and my bathroom (which were the two rooms in the house that was always relatively clean), so I gathered my cleaning things and began to relocate to my bedroom, where I quickly set to work. Once I finished in there, I did the same to my bathroom, and with the final areas in my flat sparkling clean, I collapsed on the couch with an exhausted sigh. 

 

     I wanted nothing more in life than to sit there and do nothing for however long I felt like it, but the moment I started to relax and drift off, I heard the beginning notes of my phone's ring tone start to play. "Urrggghhhh...." I groaned as I forced myself to move over the two feet needed to grab my cell phone. I recognized the number as being Jim's, so I flipped it open and answered it. "Thank god," I sighed as I heard his greeting, "I'm glad I get the chance to talk to a sane person today." 

 

     Jim's Irish tones responded smoothly. "Who says that I'm sane?" 

 

     I couldn't help but giggle ( _giggling? Really? When did I revert into a 15 year old girl?)._  "Compared to the people I've had visit me this morning, you're completely sane." 

 

     "Tell more of your visitors, I could do with a bit of insanity to take away the boredom of sanity."  


 

     "I was cleaning-" I heard a chuckle. "No, I really was! At least I was, until the supposed 'British Government' decided to play social butterfly and drink the last of the tea I had just made.... And once I got him to leave, Sherlock barged in in his pajamas demanding to know why Mycroft was here, and wouldn't leave until he robbed me of the last of my sugar and patience." 

 

     "I couldn't imagine living beneath him," His voice took on a slightly darker tone. "I suppose we would end up killing each other..." 

 

     "You're not the only one... It's a wonder that his flatmate can handle him." 

 

     "Speaking of flat-mates," Jim interjected, "How free are you on Thursday?"

 

     "What does that have to do with flat-mates?" 

 

     "Nothing." He said smugly.

 

     "Of course, because the logical thought goes from flat-mates to date plans on Thursday." 

 

     "It does for me... So," He asked again, "free or not? I thought we could both use a break from the insane and sane. I was thinking dinner, my place."

 

     I thought about what Mycroft had said earlier. It wasn't a stretch to imagine Jim doing something like that, he did seem to have...something... lurking below the surface, but how often did I get to meet a man as intriguing and captivating as Jim? "I'd love to." I decided, not very often. 

 

     "Good. I'll text you the details when I'm able, I need to go for now." 

 

     "Gotcha. Have fun with the donkey man." 

 

     "I didn't... he was an ass." I could practically feel the horrific pun through the phone. 

 

     "That was awful, truly awful..." I grinned. "I loved it... Talk to you later, Jim." He ended the call, and I (gently) flung my phone onto the seat next to me. I'd definitely be taking another shower, or maybe even a long bath before the hour was out, possibly coupled with a nice cat nap. ( _I'm so lazy sometimes...)_  I had already exerted all the energy I had that day, and it was only 4:46, but at least I was productive about it. My flat had never looked nicer (except perhaps when John and I had cleaned up Sherlock's rotting feet 'experiment'), and I felt that I had earned some well deserved rest. I was officially done with anything that involved exerting energy for the day. 


	8. Talk to me, Sebby

  
     Thursday couldn't roll around fast enough. I made sure to spend my time wisely; my days spent outside sketching and my nights sleeping or working on some of my smaller paintings. Each day couldn't go by faster, and it seemed like to universe decided to spite me more so than it already did, and slow time down even further.

     Jim had texted me on Tuesday, telling me that he would be sending a car (That still seems so odd!), and that it was nothing fancy, so to just dress casually. Still, I was nervous at the prospect of dinner at Jim's house. I couldn't get my earlier conversation with Mycroft out of my head, snatches of his warnings seemed to bounce into my mind suddenly, and I was suddenly be jolted into a bad mood, though I couldn't explain exactly why. I knew enjoyed Jim's company, but I also knew that even if it wasn't always present, I was somewhat…frightened by him as well. 

     It was a strange mixture of emotions that I hadn't felt before, the attraction muddled with slight fear that seemed to appear whenever I really  _thought_  about Jim. It wasn't there when I was in his company, but rather when I going back over the little details of our time spent together. It was little things that got to me, such as when he occasionally received a text and would glance at his phone, his carefree attitude changing almost instantly to a cold, bluntly sharp exterior while he typed a reply. The same change happened when he received a phone call (which, I noticed was very rare. He seemed to prefer texting), in which case he would almost always leave the room. Not out of politeness as I had first believed or even for confidentiality, but rather for the fact it seemed that his general personality would change. I made a mental note to try and figure out why this was when I had the time, and check the clock on my phone.

 

     With only an hour to get ready for our date, I packed my things up and headed inside to get ready. I changed out of my faded Doctor Who t-shirt, and into a light cream cashmere jumper. My jeans were still clean from my work and had only a few little paint smears on them, so I decided not to change out of the plain skinny jeans. I slipped on a pair of warm green socks and my tennis shoes, and quickly ran a brush through my curly hair. A quick inspection showed that I looked decent enough, so I plopped myself down with a well-read novel from my bookshelf to read while I waited for it to be time to leave. As is my horrible luck, I only got a few lines into the chapter I was on before I heard several polite knocks on my door. I sighed and dog-eared my page before setting the book onto my coffee table (clean, thanks to my cleaning efforts from a few days ago!), and went to answer the door. According to the clock I still had a good forty or so minutes before I was supposed to be picked up, so I knew it wasn't Jim or Sebastian. 

 

     "Hello?" I said as I opened the door. 

 

     "Lacie." A jumper wearing Doctor stood in my doorway, somewhat bashfully holding the plastic container that Sherlock had stolen a few days ago. 

 

     "John!" I grinned. "I thought you rushed out of here with Sherlock earlier." 

 

     "No, he went off pouting because I wouldn't let him keep a torso in the freezer." He shrugged. "He seemed to think that it was nothing out of the ordinary to put someone's chest next to the ice cream." 

 

     "Do you wanna come in for tea?" I asked, laughing a bit at his story of Sherlock's antics.  

 

     "Only if it's not a bother." John pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I actually came to return your sugar tub. I didn't know that Sherlock stole it a few days ago until I managed to get him to confess earlier this morning." 

 

     "That's fine, I really didn't need any sugar this week." I opened the door and let him in. John went and sat down onto my couch, placing the empty plastic tub onto my coffee table. "How do you take your tea?" I asked from the kitchen, setting my rooster-shaped kettle onto the stove to heat up. 

 

     "Just a bit of milk." He responded, and I was very glad that I had gone out and bought new groceries a few days ago. I quickly made up the drinks, and carried them out to a very polite and waiting John. 

 

     "I don't know how you manage to do it…" 

 

     "Do what?" He asked, taking a sip of his tea. 

 

     "Live with Sherlock. He's kinda…" I waved my hand to try and explain what I was trying to say. 

 

     "He is a little bit… different, but he does what he does with good intent-" John shook his head. "What am I saying? He doesn't have a set intention… But he is brilliant." He gave a small smile. "I'll suffer throughout the body parts, the experiments, and date-crashing for the brilliance." 

 

     I grinned. "I still doubt I could do it." 

 

     "I'm somewhat surprised you haven't moved out yet, honestly. Normally the tenants beneath us are gone within a month or two." 

 

     "Cheap rent. I'll can live through the crazy people upstairs." I winked. 

 

     "Are you calling me crazy?" John joked.

 

     "You'd have to be crazy to stand everything. The only company truly crazy people have is the company of other crazy people, or the people who love them." 

 

     John seemed to grow thoughtful for a few minutes, and we sat in an awkward silence. "I suppose you're right." John stood up, setting his teacup down onto my coffee table. "I'd best get going," He said awkwardly, as if something had disturbed him in his thoughts. "It's been a pleasure, we'll have to do this again some time." 

 

     "Of course." I stood as well and walked him to the door like a good host, closing it behind him as he left to head back up to 221B. Almost as soon as I heard the door from upstairs shut, I heard the clamber of footsteps rushing up the stairs, and a deep voice shouting. 

 

     "John! We have a body!" I heard more stomping, and then the sound of what I believed was John and Sherlock as they rushed down the stairs and out the front door. With a sigh at their antics, I started to clean up the remains from my tea with John, taking care to watch the clock so that I wouldn't be late. 

 

     At exactly 7 o'clock, my phone's text alert went off. I quickly unlocked it and glanced at the message. 

 

**Outside**

**_-S_ **

****

     I knew it must have been Sebastian, so I shoved my phone in my pocket and headed out the door, locking it behind me. I wasn't going to think of how Sebastian had gotten my number (I suspected Jim) as I opened the door of the slick black car that awaited me on the curb and slid into the back seat. As soon as I did so, it sped away from the curb and off towards Jim's house. 

 

     "Why does Jim always send a vehicle to come and get me?" I asked, turning my eyes from the view out of the window and to the man in the drivers seat in front of me, breaking the silence that had engulfed the vehicle. Sebastian didn't answer, and I wondered this was just his normal surly attitude, or if he was under some sort of order to not speak to me. "I can drive, you know. And thanks to the Internet, I can use maps and things… though I'd probably remember the route after the first time getting there. I rarely get lost." I started to ramble, mostly to see if I could get my companion to speak, and to fill the uncomfortable silence that was pushing in.

 

     "This is easier." Finally, an answer came from the dangerous man driving the car, and I grinned.

 

     "Doesn't seem very convenient for you." I twiddled with my thumbs. "Unless this is what you do all day." My companion was silent again. "Is this what you do for Jim? I suppose it would be fun if you didn't have to do it very often, you could just sit at home or wherever and do whatever you wanted until you had to chauffeur someone to-" 

 

     "I'm not a goddamn chauffer!" Sebastian shouted, gripping the wheel tightly, finally seeming to snap from my incessant babble. 

 

     I sighed, and remained quiet for a minute or so before daring to speak again. I could see Sebastian’s frown fade into a faint smile, as I was silent, and his grip start to relax on the wheel. This stopped once I spoke again. "What do you do then?" The frown returned. 

 

     "Anything he needs me to." 

 

     "So you  _are_  achauffeur!" 

 

     "If he needs me to be, yes." He said in a tight voice. 

 

     "What other things do you do for Jim?" Sebastian sighed, and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. 

 

     "Will you shut up if I don't answer?" 

 

     "Probably not." I shrugged earned another sigh from Sebastian. 

 

     "I sometimes cook, I sometimes clean," Sebastian began listing off various jobs that Jim occasionally had him do. "I protect him, I act as his bodyguard when he needs it, I take of people for him." 

 

     I mused over everything in my head. "By take care of… you mean…" I ran a finger across my throat, and I saw Sebastian roll his eyes in the mirror. 

 

     "Yes." 

 

     "Ah…." I glanced out the window, taking in the countryside around us. Suddenly, I felt the car shift as we made a sharp turn down a dirt and gravel road. The inside of the car darkened as the road led us through a forest path, the gravel road turning back into a smooth pavement a few minutes into the path. I had the feeling that the gravel section of the road was an illusion to keep people away from the property we were heading to. 

     The forest cleared away in an expansive area. The road circled up towards a large house (if I wanted to be honest, it looked more like the pictures of manor houses I had seen in history books), looping back into itself around a large and stately fountain in the shape of a mermaid. Sebastian briefly parked the car in front of the stairs that led up to the double door that marked the entrance to the home. I stepped out of the car and shut the door behind me. I turned to ask a question to Sebastian, but he was already pulling away. He quickly vanished down a side road that I assumed lead to a garage or somewhere similar to that, leaving me on my own. 

 

     I turned back towards the house and headed up the steps to the door. The door was surprisingly easy to open, and I was careful to make sure I shut it after entering. The inside of the house was a lot less…grand than I had imagined it, with just a few chairs in the room I was in, which I took to be a sort of entry hall. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to wait there or head inside more, so I took the initiative to head further into the house. 

     Despite the extravagant outside of the home, I noticed that the inside was a lot simpler. Various shades of brown and dark red decorated the hallway that led away from the entryway, punctuated by several medium-sized paintings by artists I couldn't identify, and a few decorative mirrors. As I approached the end of that hallway, I faintly heard the chords of a song playing from a room up ahead. I assumed that Jim or at least someone would be in that room, so I walked over to the archway that led into another area. 

     This archway led into a large and open section that opened into what I assumed was the living room. It was decorated in a variety of shades of black and white.  Several bright purple accents stood out amongst the crisp white walls and caught my eye; a few lampshades, a large throw blanket, a footstool. A large fireplace was on one wall with an expensive looking flat-screen TV hanging above it. A white leather couch was several feet away, facing towards the fireplace. Several black pillows were thrown haphazardly on the couch, and two matching black and white chairs were placed diagonally from the couch, in a more conversational manner. A thick black rug was placed on the floor of the large room, covering half of the huge space, changing it so that half the room looked comfortable, while the other half had a light wooden floor that looked cold to the touch. There were a couple of healthy looking potted plants in the corners on the room, and I could see another archway that looked like it headed off into a formal dining room or kitchen. A small radio on a table by the archway was filling the room with the quiet tones of some upbeat and bubbly song. 

     In front of the couch was a glass topped coffee table with two plates on it and what looked (and smelt) to be a pizza box next to it. Sitting on the couch in a very casual manner was the man who I had been looking for. 

 

     "Jim." I grinned as his head swiveled, and I saw him tuck his phone into the pocket of the well-fitting and worn jeans that he was wearing. 

 

     "Look," He said, pressing a button on a remote that caused the radio to go silent, "I have pizza." Jim flashed me a smile. "I figured we could just eat pizza and watch a movie or something. Ordinary things." 

 

     "That sounds great!" I exclaimed as I joined him on the couch, where he instantly scooted closer. "Whatcha pick out?" 

 

     "Well…." Jim said, his Irish accent drawing out the word and causing it to sound almost lyrical, "Which do you want to watch?" He pulled two movies off a side table, and held each of them up. "The Prestige, or The Illusionist?" 

 

     I gave him a mischievous grin as I picked the movie, which was quickly started on the television. "Someone likes magic, don't they?" 

 

     "I'll admit I did own a magic set when I was younger…" We lay there casually as the movie started, both of us eating a slice of pizza. 

 

     "Why magicians?" I asked curiously. 

 

     He paused, seemingly gnawing over the question in his mind. "They can make people see what they want them to see, and no one ever cares that they're being tricked. The people enjoy being fooled, they enjoy not knowing the secret; while the illusionist holds all the cards in their hands, and they have the power to make them see what they want to them to believe. They control the reality of the world around them."

 

     I sat silently, thinking over what Jim had said. "I never liked magic acts. They always made me sad." I gave a little laugh. "When I was eight, my mom hired a magician who came to my birthday party and did an act. He did this trick with a bird, where he placed it in a box and made it disappear, and then pulled the bird out of his sleeve. My mom had to send everyone home early because I wouldn't stop crying over the bird, because the one he put into the box had a leg with a black stripe on it, while the one he pulled out of his sleeve didn't. And that’s what magicians do; they trick you. They'll take something you like and make it vanish… And just when you think it's gone forever, they bring it back. But it's not the same as when they took it away in the first place, it's different. It looks the same but it isn't. It's… not the same thing you liked in the first place." 

 

     "Someone is acting deep today." Jim joked. 

 

     "It's the pizza, I always turn into Socrates when I get a slice." I joked back. 

 

     Both of us fell into an eventual silence as we got wrapped up in the movie, slow lying gravitating into a position of comfort and warmth. It wasn't until the movie ended that we moved, stretching a bit as the credits rolled across the screen. I laid back into a comfortable position again, letting my head fall back and lay on the back of the couch as I let out a long sigh. 

 

     Jim cocked an eyebrow at me and asked, "Everything okay?" 

 

     "I'm thinking about what I did this week!" I exclaimed, tossing my hands in the air. "Nothing! I'm so laaaaazzzzyyyyy!" 

 

     Chuckling Jim moved closer and poked me in the side, and I squirmed to get away from the tickle. "You don't seem very lazy." 

 

     "Oh, but I am! I do nothing alllll dayyyyy!" I flopped over onto my side. "I'd make a better fish than I would a human!" 

 

     "Ah, but I couldn't do this to a fish." He pulled my head up and kissed me. 

 

     "That's a very good point," I concluded. "But you'll need a better argument than that." His lips returned to mine once more, and it wasn't until we both desperately needed to breath that we broke away. "Yeah," I said, taking a breath, "That's a great argument. All right then, I'll stay human." 

 

     "Stay here tonight." Jim spoke suddenly, his brown eyes boring into mine. The way he said it, it seemed like both a command and a request; as if he was unsure of himself. However, I had a feeling that Jim was not someone to ever become uncertain about anything. 

 

     "Of course." I responded, giving him a measured smile. "No need to be so grim sounding about it." 

 

     "I'm tired." He said, the demanding and playful tone fading into something more desperate and wearier. 

 

     "Perhaps you shouldn't work so much then." I said, thinking of the occasional times he would speak of what he did, his tone a mixture between boredom and exhaustion. I knew for a fact that I really didn't do much, what I did was just enough to pay all my bills, any extra little expenses, and out a bit away for saving, and I was always tired at the end of a day. Doing what Jim did? I would have been dead in a week. 

 

     "I cleared tomorrow for myself." He said, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair, tousling the dark chestnut strands about, though they still managed to look perfect. Jim glanced down at me from his advantaged position. "And you." He said, not giving me any say in the matter (not that I minded, I would have spent most of Friday doing exactly what I had done the rest of the days before). We untangled ourselves from the odd heap of limbs that we had somehow become, and Jim stood up. "Let's go to bed." 

 

     "You constantly assume I'll just go along with you." I stated, and he looked down at me. 

 

     "I've never needed to assume otherwise." Jim responded, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. 

 

     "Cheeky bastard." I mumbled. 

 

     "You keep saying that," He said, waltzing out of the room. I quickly followed behind him. "But I still don't think it's true." 

 

     "Oh, you're cheeky all right." We headed down another hallway and up a flight of stairs. "We left the food out."

 

     "It's been cleaned up." Jim and I traveled down yet  _another_  hallway (this place seemed even bigger than it had originally appeared!), this one with multiple doors along the sides. "I have people whom I pay to stay out of sight who take care of all of that." 

 

     "They live here with you?" I asked, not wanting to believe that he lived in this huge house by himself. 

 

     "They stay on the first floor, in the far back rooms. Sebastian as a room on this floor, though he rarely stays here. He prefers the flat I bought him in central London." Jim pushed a dark brown wooden door open at the end of hall, and flew inside with a state of casual elegance that I couldn't have mimicked in a thousand years. He had already been barefoot since I had first gotten there, so he quickly set about disrobing. Jim gestured towards a set of double doors on the opposite side of the huge room, "Feel free to change into something." 

 

     I walked over to the doors and pulled them open, the well-oiled hinges barely making a sound as hey swung open. "This is ridiculous!" I exclaimed as I took in the huge walk-in closet. I walked inside, gaping like a fish as the rows upon rows of suits on one side, the other covered in shelves that held what looked like more casual clothes, jeans and shirts. Another door was there at the end of the long closet, and I cracked it opened. "You have a closet  _inside_  your closet!" IT was true, the door opened to a smaller room filled with shelves that held more pairs of shoes than I had clothes. "I could fit half my apartment into your closets, Jim." Heading out back into the 'main' closet, I found what looked to be a softer grey t-shirt. I quickly shed my own outfit and slid it on, the larger shirt falling a bit before my knees. 

     "I wasn't joking when I said your closet was huge, Jim." I said, running my fingers through my dark blue hair to shake the tangles out as I walked out of the closet. Jim had already curled up in his bed, a large four-poster thing that looked like it had come out of a Victorian romance novel. He flung back the sheets as I approached, allowing me to climb in without disturbing his already comfy spot. The moonlight shone faintly in through the covered window on the wall opposite the bedroom door, slightly illuminating the now darkened room.

 

     "I knocked out the room next door and turned it into a closet. I needed the space." He mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow he was resting his face against. 

 

     "Ridiculous…" I muttered as I snuggled under the covers. The cool sheets felt nice against my skin, with the large cream comforter on top providing a nice warmth. Jim moved himself closer to me, and I couldn't help but giggle a little bit at his antics. 

 

     "What's so funny?" He murmured as his nuzzled his head in near my neck.

 

     "I can't believe that Jim Moriarty, the deadly and wonderful consulting criminal, likes to  _cuddle._ " 

 

     "Hmmmhm." He grumbled at me, his eyes closed. "Then get used to it, Lacie." 

 

     I didn't respond, and instead moved myself to a bit more comfortable position, where Jim instantly latched on to me again. Within minutes, I heard the calm and steady breathing that I had grown to associate as Jim's slow into a pace that made me realize he was asleep. I moved my head a bit, giving him a light kiss on the forehead, his hair tickling my nose slightly. From there, we slept. 


	9. Chapter 9

**You guys are wonderful. Thank you, thank you for all your lovely reviews! I could NOT get through that last chapter. It just sat there taunting me with it's stupidness, so I kept postponing it and working on chapters 9 and 10. I posted it, thinking… "Oh, this is going to suck! I'm going to get so many disappointed reviews and flames, but I deserve it because it sucks SO MUCH!" But to my surprise, I had many nice reviews waiting for me in my email inbox. Thank you! :D**

 **I hope you like this next chapter, it's the very beginning of the beginning of my (hopefully not sucky) plot line.**

 **Also, This opens the way for the awkward meeting between Sherlock and Moriarty at Lacie's. Yay! Awkward detective stuffs!**

 **So I was re-reading the chapters I'd already written, and I discovered that in chapter 3, I said that Lacie had a sister! I meant to put down friend instead of sister, but I guess I messed up there. Sorry :( So… for clarity, she does not have a sister.**

* * *

  _The Next Morning_  


    "I didn't know you cooked." I said, taking a seat at one of the chairs at the kitchen bar. Jim began pulling things out of cabinets and drawers and setting them on the counter.

     "Not all of us can live on takeout…" 

     "That better not have been a fat joke, Jim!" I threatened, wagging my finger at him. He put a shocked look on his face at my accusation. 

     "What? No!" Jim smiled innocently. "It was compliment. I applaud your ability to live on Thai and Chinese food for weeks at a time."

     "It better have been." I plucked a black spatula out of a can of larger stirring spoons and other similar things and waved it in his direction threateningly. "I'm not afraid to hit the big bad consulting criminal with a spatula!" 

     Jim rolled his eyes and clutched his heart over exaggeratingly "Ack! My greatest fear is short women bearing spatulas!" 

     I laughed at his antics, and glanced around the kitchen to find a clock to look at the time. "What time is it?" I asked, not finding one. 

     "Dunno." He peered at me with his dark eyes narrowed in a joking suspicion. "Why? Bored of me already?" 

     "Bored? Of course not!" I shrugged. "I was just curious." 

     "There's a clock out in the entry hall." 

     "Don't you have any closer?" I asked, and he shrugged as he stirred a mixture into a mixing bowl. I shook my head at his antics. "I'll be right back then." I headed out of the kitchen in search for the entry hall.

     Oddly enough, there seemed to be only a single clock in all of Jim's house (if I could call it a house, it seemed more like an estate to me), that clock being the large, imposing, ancient grandfather clock in the entry way. It stood on the opposite wall, it's large black hands steadily counting out each second, minute, and hour. As it did so, a large silver pendulum inside swing from side to side, a solid 'tick' coming from inside, matching the movements of the pendulum. The clock itself was made of a dark, almost black wood that I guessed to be African Blackwood, as my mom had used to have a similar clock in her father's house, though the pendulum had been a brass color instead of silver. I had been too nervous on arriving to dinner earlier to really pay attention to my surroundings, so when I saw the time on the large clock, I was somewhat shocked. It was nearing noon!

  


     I headed back in the direction of the kitchen, stopping to make a quick stop in his bedroom, where I grabbed my phone from my jean pockets and slid it into the pocket of the green dressing robe I was wearing over the large shirt I had filched from Jim's closet. I made my way back to the kitchen to find Jim pouring batter into the pan, his hands moving the batter about as it fell to create weird shapes. "What are you doing?"

     "Making pancakes." His tone clearly read ' _obviously, what does it look like I'm doing?'._  He grabbed a spatula and began poking at the quickly cooking batter. 

     "No, I meant with all the…" He looked at me amused as I flailed my arms about, doing an awful impression of him pouring batter. 

     "I'm making animal shaped pancakes." He wrinkled his nose. "And I do not look like a drunk orangoutang when I cook!"

     "If you say so…." I rolled my eyes at him. He went back to cooking, and I slid my phone from my pocket and flipped it open. The illuminated screen was lit with the words "1 New Voicemail". I pressed play while Jim continued to flip the pancakes, and held the phone up to my ear. 

     " _I'm calling on behalf of the University Hospital of Wales, to inform Lacie Fowell that Seren Fowell was checked in today on August 17th. Further information can be received at the University Hospital of Wales, or by calling this number."_  


  
I suddenly felt cold, like all the warmth had been sucked out of the room. Numbly, I slid the phone from where I held it and flipped it shut. "What do you want to-" Jim started to ask as he turned around, though the question died on abruptly on his lips as I stared at him blankly. "Lacie, what's wrong?"

     "My mum is in the hospital." The words seemed to fall from my lips thickly, and I could practically hear my heart start to speed up. "What if she's hurt? Oh god." I stood up suddenly, pushing the chair back. "What if she's dying?" She was the only family I had left, if she was gone… I would be alone. My mind had gotten over the few seconds of pure frozen terror and shock, and was already racing ahead to what I needed to do. Jim came around to me and laid a hand on my shoulder to grab my attention, but I brushed it off and headed out of the kitchen. I wasn't running, but I certainly wasn't leisurely walking to Jim's room. He followed me, his longer legs letting him catch up to me as I sped into his room. I quickly began gathering my clothes, sliding them on haphazardly, with no thought to how I looked. 

     "Lacie…" Jim grabbed my arm, forcing me to face him. My thoughts were racing through my mind at a million miles a minute, and I was close to panicking. 

     "Jim, I'm sorry." I pulled back from him. "I have to go, I have to…" My mouth couldn't seem to keep up with my mind, and the results were jumbled sentences. "I have to… pack, plane tickets… I can't…" I looked at him with eyes wide with panic, sadness, confusion. I just had to get to her. I started to head out of his room again. 

     "Lacie!" This time it wasn't the gentle cooing voice that normally floated from Jim's lips, it was the sharp glassy voice that I had only heard a once before, and then by accident. It was a command, though he didn't yell it but rather punctuated through the foggy cloud that had surrounded my rational thought. "Stop." I froze, and turned to him. Jim walked over to me, and put a hand beneath my chin and lifted it so that he was staring into my eyes. "Where did they say your mother was at?" He asked firmly. 

     "University of Wales Hospital." I answered, accepting the steadiness that his calm and strong words brought. 

     "And where exactly is that?" 

     "Health Park, in Cardiff, Wales." I only remembered the address thanks to the broken arm I suffered from when I was seven. 

     "See? That wasn't too difficult." His hand reached up and ruffled my bed head, and kissed me on the forehead. He turned away from me, and headed towards his closet, where he vanished inside. "I can have my pilot prepare to get us there within the hour." 

     "….us…?" I hurried after Jim, following him into his closet where he was already slipping into a pair of casual jeans and a snatched T-shirt from one of the shelves. "Jim, what are you talking about?" 

     He strode out of the closet with a cocky attitude and scooped up the phone on his nightstand.  "It would be almost impossible to find two last minute plane tickets to Wales, so I'm having my pilot take us." He began typing on his phone, and I heard the sound of a text being sent before he looked back up at me. "Did you honestly think I would be letting you go alone?" 

     "Well… I mean…" I fumbled to find the right words to express what I was trying to say. I assumed Jim would stay here, with his empire and plans and business things, while I left for however long it would take. I would have never guessed that he would want to come with me. "You have… everything to do." I said lamely.

     "I just texted Sebastion and informed him that he needed to cancel all upcoming meetings until further notice. He can handle the basic needs of my Empire. All the important information is either on my phone, or in my mind. I can run it from anywhere in the world, Lacie." His attention was turned back towards his phone as he typed a number in and called someone.

     Someone must have answered, because his voice lost the casual tones it normally had around me, and took on a razor-sharp inflection.  "Moriarty,  _obviously."_  He sneered. "Unless you've been disobeying my rules, no one else should have the number to this phone. So ask yourself," Pausing for effect, he continued. "Who else would it be? Now… I'm going to Wales, and I need you to take me there." I could hear the muffled voice of someone on the other end responding. "Yes,  _now._  I want to be ready to leave as soon as I get to the hanger, and I'll be leaving to get there in a few minutes." Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call and turned back to me, with a sly smile on his face. "Alls ready then." 

     It wasn't until we actually got to the hangar (which turned out to be a ten minute drive away, though I suspected it would have taken longer if Jim hadn't been going 70 mph down the empty country road), that I realized we were surprisingly underprepared. "We don't have passports." I commented as we approached the plane. It wasn't as big as a commercial airliner, but it was still large enough to be considered extravagant, and I realized that Jim just seemed to enjoy have extravagance. 

     "We don't need them. We won't be going in through an airport, we'll be going to a privately owned runway managed by a client of mine. She's already been informed of our arrival, and has everything set up there." He climbed the stairs up into the plane, and I was shocked at how roomy it was inside. Several tables and blush seatings were around the interior, with curtains and other things. It looked like someone could actually live in the placed, like a miniature apartment.

     "We didn't pack anything." I stated as Jim flung himself onto the large sofa that took up an entire side of the strange interior. 

     "For someone who enjoys spontaneity, you seem to like to be well prepared for it." A man closed the door to the plane and seconds later I could hear the sounds of the engines beginning to fire up. He looked up at me from his lounging position on the couch, an arm draped over the end on one side, while his legs draping themselves haphazardly over the back. I frowned at him, towering over him for once. "Fine, fine!" He exclaimed, exasperated. Jim tapped on his phone a bit, and then glanced back up at me. "We'll have clothes and things by tonight. Now," He patted the seat, "sit down and stop fidgeting. Everything is under my control." 

     I joined him on the couch, slipping my shoes off as I climbed onto it. I leaned back against the cushioned end of the couch, facing Jim. Almost immediately after I was comfortable, Jim moved himself so that his feet were resting in my lap, our legs tangled together in a cozy way. "Jim…" I started, as I look down at his grey-clad socked feet. "When did you take your shoes off?" 

     "Who said I was ever wearing any?" He winked at me. "Why? Do my feet…." He began to wiggle his feet around, " _sssstttttiiiiinnnnkkk?_ " 

     I laughed. "You are just  _asking_  to be tickled." 

     "To bad," He said, sticking his tongue out at me, "the tickle monster has no effect on me!" 

     "I'm dating a 12 year old man-child!" I giggled. 

     "I'm pretty sure a man child couldn't do this!" He exclaimed as he suddenly launched himself at me, his momentum pushing me back against the end of the couch. His face was dangerously close to mine, and I was essentially pinned between the couch and him. With a wicked grin, he closed the distance between us, and captured my mouth with his. I faintly taste the sweet pancake syrup that I knew he had been sneaking while cooking earlier, but before I could fully reciprocate the kiss, he pulled back and flung himself back in his previous position and whipped his phone out of his pocket. Within seconds, he was texting or playing Words with Friends or whatever, as if that had never happened. 

     I sighed. At times like this, it really  _was_  like dating a child (but not in the weird way). Jim had mood swings ranging from calm to indifferent from fire to ice in the matter of minutes, and his vocalization skills varied with each mood. Some conversations he would be able to carry on a whole conversation with himself using words I was pretty sure hadn't been used in a few hundred years, others barely consisted of four words and a nonexistent vocabulary past primary school. 

     I spent the rest of the short trip in my head while Jim lounged across from me, tapping away on his phone. It wasn't until the landing gear hit the ground again that Jim even bothered to look back up, and even then it was the look of 'Oh, we're there already?'. 

     The door opened from the outside after we had been stopped for several minutes, and Jim stood up and waltzed out the door with me following behind him, mumbling a polite thank you to the intimidating man who had opened the door. A car was already waiting for us, and I slid into the back seat with Jim after another mumbled thank you to the second man holding the door open for us (Well, I say us… but I had a firm belief that they wouldn't have spared me a passing thought if I hadn't been in Jim's silver shadow). 

     Jim must have already instructed the driver as to where we needed to go, because he was silent as the car pulled out of the quiet hanger and headed towards skyline of a city that could be seen on the horizon. Jim was still unspeaking as the car moved towards its destination, so I turned my head towards the window, leaning against it as I gazed out at the scenery. The grassy lands turned into sprawling neighborhoods, which evolved into the familiar city that I grew up in as we passed the simple sign that marked the boundary line of Cardiff. 

           _City and County of_  


 _ **CARDIFF**_

 _Capital of Wales_

     It read, and beneath that, in Welsh: 

           _Dinas a Sir_  


 _**CAERDYDD**_

 _Prifddinas Cymru_

     I smiled as we travelled into the city. I had missed wondering around and seeing the scrambled Welsh writing that littered everything from signs to graffiti. I was so concentrated on looking around at the city that I was completely oblivious that we had pulled up to the hospital. It wasn't until after the car had pulled into a smooth stop and Jim had climbed out that I realized that we were there. I hurried after him, the sliding doors pulling back as we drew near, spilling the sterilized air of the clean hospital over us. The large sprawling building complex was various shades of pastel colors on the inside, with mostly white and pale oak furnishings. Along the farthest back wall was a length of connecting counters with several men and women behind them, typing on computers, talking on the phones, and directing people to where they needed to be. Jim was just sort of standing there, so I took the lead and headed to the information desks at the far wall. As I approached on of the people working, a woman looked up and beckoned me towards her station, as the others had several people waiting for them. 

     "I can assist you over here, Miss." I headed over to her, and she clicked a button on the earpiece she was wearing. "Welcome to the University of Wales Hospital, my name is Janice, how can I help you?"

     I greeted her back with a smile as Jim stood behind me, allowing me to handle the necessary information. "I'm looking for Seren Fowell… She was admitted sometime yesterday night." 

     Janice began typing on the keypad, her eyes flickering behind her amber cat-eyed style glasses that sat perched on her nose as she read the information that was displayed. "Seren Fowell was admitted last night for several injuries. Are you and your companion relatives?" Her green eyes flickered over to Jim, who was back to texting on his phone. 

     "I'm her daughter, Lacie Fowell, and this is my boyfriend." She nodded at me. 

     "She's on the fourth floor, room 412." 

     I thanked her for her help, and Jim and I headed to the silver-doored lifts that were on the ground floor. We arrived at the fourth floor, and with very little trouble followed the various signs and numbers to the correct door. It was cracked open, and I poked my head inside to make sure that it was my mother inside. Since it was, I headed inside to assess the damage that I hoped wasn't too bad.

     "Mom?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper in the quiet room. She was propped up in the bed, her gaze directed towards the large window that took up half of the wall and looked out over the city. At the sound of my voice, she turned. 

     "Lacie!" She grinned, clasping her hands together excitedly. "What are you doing here,  _cariad?_ "

     "The hospital called and said you had been in an accident," I said, inspecting her for injury. 

     "Oh… I'm just fine!" My mother's blue-grey eyes shone happily. "I was driving down to the supermarket, and Mr. Jones's brakes went out, and we collided at the intersection." She shook her head. "Nothing major at all. A few bruised ribs and a minor concussion. Doctor says I'll be safe to check out tomorrow night…. Now, don't just linger in doorways. It's rude! Come in and sit down, love." 

     I opened the door fully and walked in, Jim trailing behind me. His phone had been placed back in his pocket, and he had a friendly smile on his face. I appreciated him trying to seem… respectable, and to make a good impression, but even I could tell that his grin seemed just the tiniest bit forced.

     "Oh?" My bedridden mother's eyes got a sharp look in them as she saw Jim, and I could feel the tension in the previously cheerful room suddenly mount. "And who is this lovely young man?" 

     "Mom, this is-" I started to introduce Jim, but he suddenly interrupted. 

     "Richard Brook." He leaned forward, extending his hand to my mother, who promptly took it and shook his hand firmly. "I'm Lacie's boyfriend." He withdrew his hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close and flashing my mother another grin. 

     "Well," She said, her eyes judging him silently, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Richard." 

     'Richard' and I sat down in the two armchairs that were by the window, and my mom immediately engaged in pulling him into a conversation about himself. I let my mind wonder a bit as they did so, my attention drawn back to 'Richard Brook'. Why had Jim done that, use a fake name? He even acted different.

     Jim Moriarty was… somewhat cat-like in his affections, he only wanted to be touched when  _he_  deemed it good, and when he did want to show affection, he did so gladly; if not a bit possessively. 'Richard Brook' acted…clingy, and a bit nervous and shifty-eyed, while friendly. Even now, 'Richard' was holding my hand across the small table set in between the two chairs. 

     "I'm the Storyteller," I heard Jim say and I was drawn back towards to conversation at hand. "I tell stories to children on the telly, I recently made a DvD of the show." 

     "That sounds wonderful!" My mother exclaimed, though there was a faint hard light in her eyes that I recognized from my childhood, from when I told a fib. "How did you and Lacie meet, Richard?"

     "Well…" Jim gave me a crooked grin, his Irish tones drawing out the word. "I was walking down the street, and she was sitting in front of her apartment drawing. We talked, and just hit it off." 

     My mother cooed. "That's so sweet, a truly romantic meeting." 

     "I know, I know…" Jim said back, and I sat there a little lost. 

     "Oh…" My mother suddenly grumbled, sighing. 

     "What's wrong?" I asked, ready to call a doctor.

     "The nurse came by around an hour ago, and asked if I wanted anything… I asked for some orange juice, but she still hasn't come back." 

     "I'll go fetch some, Mrs. Fowell." Jim said, standing he started to head out the door, and I stood up suddenly. 

     "I'll show him the way." I explained to my mother as I rushed from the room. I looked down the hall, and saw Jim already nearing the main corridor for the fourth floor. I rushed to catch up with him, grabbing his arm just as he headed into the lift. "What the hell, Jim?" I exclaimed as the doors shut, leaving us alone. 

     "You seem angry." He stated, pressing the button to first floor where the cafeteria was located.

     I ignored his blatant comment. "Richard Brook? What are you doing? She's my  _mother._ "

     Jim got an exasperated look on his face. "You already know this. My  _business_  is not exactly a legal enterprise, Lacie. I have very real enemies, and I have plans in place that I need to keep safe. It makes sense to use my alias, since we are in another country. I can defend you and I just fine, but without Sebastion or any of my other employees, it is prudent to maintain a low profile." A ding sounded to let us know that the doors would be opening soon, and Jim suddenly launched himself at me, easily pushing me up against the faux wooden paneling of the lift. He leaned in close, and I could smell peppermint on his breath. "The name  _Jim Moriarty_  resonates throughout the underground world. If a whiff of that is caught here, in Cardiff, then I will have many, many problems to take care of." His dark eyes peered into mine. "Understand?" I nodded mutely. "Good." He gave me a light peck on the tip of my nose, straightening just as the doors opened. "Now, let's go get some orange juice." 

     The doors opened and Jim sauntered out and into the hallway. I quickly followed, catching up to him as he rushed away. The return trip back upstairs was uneventful, and we both sat down as my mom took sips of her drink. After she was satisfied, she looked at me pointedly, a look I recognized from years of living wither. It was the look of 'you and I need to talk', and I normally only had to suffer through it when I had done something wrong. I hoped to quickly intervene the oncoming storm that I considered my mother's 'serious' talks by grabbing a deck of cards that had been sitting on the side table by her hospital bed. 

     "Cards?" I offered quickly, and I saw my mother's forehead pinch as she sent a withering glare my way. 

     "That sounds like a great idea, Lacie." My mother commented, and Jim and I scooted the chairs closer to the bed so that she could participate. It started off as a slightly awkward game, with mostly silence, and so she took it to the advantage to talk. 

     "Ei for yn gorwedd."   _He's lying._ My mother said suddenly, her blue-green eyes never wavering from the cards she held in her hands.

     My eyes flickered over to Jim, who sat still as well. I drew a card from the deck and placed it in my hand. "Dydw i ddim yn gwybod beth rydych chi'n siarad am."  _I don't know what you're talking about._  


     "Rydych yn gorwedd."  _You're lying._  She stated. I looked over at 'Richard', who was purposely ignoring us and allowing us to talk. I knew that he knew we were discussing him, because it was not Richard's eyes that flicked between us, judging our tones, but rather Jim's. "Ddweud wrthyf y gwir, cariard."  _Tell me the truth, sweetheart._  


  
"Nid les angen i chi wybod."  _You don't need to know._  Jim laid down a card, and my mother drew two into her hand. 

     "Mae gen i hawl ybod pwy yw fy merch yn dyddio!"  _I have the right to know who my daughter is dating!_  She exclaimed. 

     "Dyw hi ddum yn fy lle i yw dweud."  _It's not my place to say._  I shifted my gaze to Jim, whose charcoal eyes pierced into mine. I looked back at my mother, whose astute eyes met my without wavering. "Ofyn iddi each hun."  _Ask him yourself._  


  
She looked smug, knowing that she had won the persuasive argument she had been going for. "Rwy'n bwriadu ar ei."  _I plan on it._  She continued on in English, finally letting Jim in on the conversation. "So Richard, where do you and Lacie plan on staying while you visit? I assume you didn't just fly up here to spend a few hours and then fly home."

     "The trip was on short notice, but I'm sure we'll find someplace to stay for a few days." Jim said, smiling warmly at my mother. 

     "It would be rude to just send you off to some sleazy motel. No, I insist you stay at my house." 

     "Mom, are you sure? We wouldn't want to intrude." 

     "Of course you wouldn't intrude, Lacie." She tsked at me, just as a nurse was walking in. 

     "It's time for the doctor to check on your ribs, Mrs. Fowell." The nurse said brightly. My mother turned her sheets back and slid to the edge of the bed, easily making her way into the wheelchair that had been provided. 

     "I still don't know why I have to ride in this stupid thing. I can walk just fine, you know." My mother said as the nurse messed with the medical board at the end of the bed. 

     "It's hospital policy, Mrs. Fowell. I told you this already." The nurse turned to me, and gave Jim and I a friendly smile. "She'll be having her check-up for an hour or so, I'll return her then." 

     "You might as well go home, Lacie. It'll give you some time to settle down, and you can take Richard sight seeing or something before tomorrow." 

     "Yeah, sure, if that's what you want." I said, standing. "Be sure to ring me if you want anything from home, I can bring it tomorrow." She nodded, and the nurse whisked her away before I could get a chance to say goodbye. 

     As soon we entered the elevator Jim pulled out his phone and began typing on it again. "What's the address?" 

     "Why?" I asked, curiously. 

     He rolled his eyes at me. "I had Sebby bring some things over. It's likely he'll get there before us, so he needs to know where he's going." 

     I rattled off the address as we exited the building, and Jim relayed the address to the driver of the car that had taken us to the hospital. The driver took the same route home that my mother had taken when I had first been to the hospital, and I saw the same house waiting for me at the end then that I did now. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, Jim and I exited the car and it spend away, going back to wherever it came from. 

     "You won't be able to use your fancy smancy beck-and-call people while you're here, Jim." I said as I grabbed the spare outside key from underneath the purple plant pot that sat on the front porch of the pale yellow panel and brick house, and proceeded to unlock the door. "Not if you're not Jim…" I let us inside, the nostalgic scent of home bringing back good memories. I went to shut the door behind us, but Jim stopped me. 

     "We left the suitcases on the porch." I hadn't even seen them, but when I looked out the door again I could clearly see the two simple cases ducked under the porch railing. I grabbed one, and Jim grabbed the other. 

     I locked the door behind us and led Jim to where my room used to be, wondering if my mother had done anything to it. We passed the dining room and living room, and headed down the short hallway that led to four doors. The one on the far end was the door to my mother's room, the one in the middle was the door to the bathroom, the third being the door to my bedroom, and the fourth being a tiny door that led to a storage space under the stairs that we used to hold the cleaning supplies. I opened the door to my room, and grinned as I saw that nothing had changed. 

     "It's been forever since I've been in here!" I exclaimed as I set the luggage on the floor and threw myself onto the bed. 

     "It's so…small." Jim said, surveying the pale blue and dark brown wallpaper, his eyes wondering over to me, as I lounged on the dark brown comforter that covered the matching pale blue sheets. "I assumed it would have been bigger."

     "Yes, well…" I pushed myself up and walked over to him, dragging his attention back to me as I pulled his head down a bit so that I could give him a chaste kiss on his pale lips. "Not everyone has a house big enough to get lost in." I grabbed the luggage from his hand, and set it on the floor where I placed the other suitcase. "It's the perfect size." 

     "It's tiny." He sat down on the edge of the twin bed that I had just left, looking around the room again. "Miniscule." 

     I held up a finger and gave him what I hoped was a knowing look. "But it has tons of storage space." With practiced ease I opened the tall cabinet doors that took up a portion of the opposite wall, revealing a desk area with multiple sunken-in shelves, weighed down my books and knick-knacks. Two large drawers set into the wall was beneath the cabinet doors, and I pointed at them. "Those go back two feet into the wall," And pointed to the larger drawer that was next to it on the side wall. "As does that." Pointing again, I directed his attention to the smaller cabinet doors above the doors that hid my private desk area, "That's another large space," I closed the cabinet doors, and opened the floor to ceiling doors that was only a few inches away. "And that's the closet. There's even drawers in the bed frame, so I don't need as much space. I have plenty of storage room." 

     "It's  _cramped._ " 

     "Cozy!" 

     "A hobbit hole." 

     "It's homey!" I crossed my arms and glared at him. "There's two guest rooms upstairs if you'd like to stay in one of those." 

     Jim smirked at me, patting the bed. "But it's so  _cozy_  down here… I'm sure we can fit…" I rolled my eyes at him and grabbed one of the suitcases, setting it on the bed so I could open it. 

     I saw all the men's clothing inside and I shut it again and replaced it with the other. "That one's yours," I said as I opened the other. It was filled with the essentials from my home and closet, including a several pairs of undergarments. "Jim…" I warned at the man who had gotten up and had started to poke through the drawers and shelves in my room, "Who went over to my house and packed this?"

     "Sebastion did, of course." 

     "YOU LET A STRANGER DIG THROUGH MY CLOTHES?!" I shrilled. 

     "Sebby isn't a  _stranger_." Jim scoffed. 

     "He went through my underwear drawer!" I felt my cheeks turning red. "How did he even get into my flat in the first place!?" 

     "I told him where I kept my key to your apartment." 

     "You have a key to my apartment?" I threw my hands in the air. "Neither Sebastion nor you have any sense of privacy!" 

     "I am in a committed relationship with you, Lacie. Normally people receive a key to the other's place of residence." 

     "Yeah, but normally they ask first!" 

     He sighed. "But that's sooo booooring…" 

     I rolled my eyes, I should have known better than trying to make Jim comprehend what I meant. I sorted through the suitcase and grabbed a pair of jeans and a pale blue jumper and other necessary clothes. "I'm going to take a shower, I feel grubby." I waited for Jim to acknowledge what I said, but when I saw that he was preoccupied with the Rubix cube on the shelf. I left my old bedroom and walked the six feet to the bathroom. 

     I laid my clothes on the tiled ledge that supported the sink, and shut the door behind me, hearing the faint click as it latched shut. Quickly, I shed my clothes, shivering in the briskness of the bathroom as I waited for the water to warm up. The moment it was steaming I jumped in, gasping as the hot water hit my chilly skin. It felt like heaven to finally get clean after the grand adventure we had had that morning, so I stood there and let the water warm me up. The steam wafted through the bathroom, quickly making the colder room warm, and I let my mind wander as I warmed up.

     My thoughts inevitably led back to the conversation in my mom's hospital room. I was slightly worried about how my mom would approach Jim. She wasn't dumb, though she wasn't nearly as smart as Jim could be… but she was like a physic when it came to lying. I wanted her to be reassured that I was fine, but if she knew who Jim really was…. She would probably have a heart attack. She would pester him until she was satisfied he wasn't lying anymore, but who knew how much Jim would have to tell before she'd stop?

     I suddenly felt a cold touch on the back of my neck and my train of though veered off course and crashed as I spun around abruptly, my heart racing. "Jim!" I gasped, "You scared me…" The pale Irishman chuckled and pulled me close to him. 

     "I was cold all by myself, Lacie… You left me all 'lone." He murmured, kissing the top of my head. 

     "I told you where I was going." 

     "But you didn't invite me with you…." His dark eyes twinkled. "We need to be eco-friendly, save the environment… Sharing a shower means less water wasted, you know."

     "Yet I have the oddest feeling that we'll end up dirtier when we get out than we were when we got in…" I pulled his head down and kissed him, biting his lower lip lightly. "So in the end, we'll just be wasting more water." 

     "Well… being green is no fun anyhow…" Jim grinned, and captured my lips again. I pushed the issue of my mom's conversation to the back of my head. I'd worry about it later. 


	10. Some Meetings are Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thanks for your reviews and kudos everyone! :) I'm still shocked at how much attention this story has been getting… you people are so nice :D 
> 
> News (That you can skip and ignore or read): In the last chapter, I mentioned that Jim took a plane to Cardiff… I didn't know it at the time, but I am now aware that Cardiff is actually only a 3-4 hour drive from the England area! So hopefully my times and distances will be better off in upcoming chapters….   
> In more exciting news: Gwilwillith has graciously offered to brit-pick this story, out of the kindness and graciousness of their big ole heart :) That means less mistakes! Yay! 
> 
> Well, now that formalities are out of the way…. Here you go!

    "I  _cannot_  believe that there is nothing to eat!" I (gently) slammed the kitchen cabinet doors shut, and opened the tall white pantry door for the third time, hoping something edible had magically appeared. "Nothing! Nothing!" I shut the pantry door and turned my head to look at Jim, who was slumped in one of the wrought metal chairs that made up the small kitchen table. He had his arms stretched across the glass surface that covered the black metal of the table, his cheek against the glass as he gazed at me with a petulant expression. I crossed the red and white wooden checkered floor and opened the refrigerator. "When was the last time she went shopping?” I groaned as I took in the bare fridge, eyeing the grape jam and bag of potatoes that occupied the produce drawer. 

 

     I heard an exasperated sigh coming from the table, and I rolled my eyes as Jim began his spiel yet again. "Lacie…" The drawn out vowels tickled my ears. "I'm  _soooo_  hungry…." He moaned.

 

     "I know, I know, Jim…" I shut the fridge and glanced at the comical black cat clock that ticked on the wall above the sink. "You've only mentioned your imminent death six times…" The plastic black and white striped tail ticked out the seconds, waving its paw and causing its green eyes to tick back and forth. It was nearing five, so I figured there would be enough time to get some food into the house before Jim starved. "Alright then…. We're going get to groceries." I placed my hands on my hips and faced a now-pouting Jim. 

 

     "Takeout." He demanded from his slumped position, still managing to sound dignified. 

 

     "Takeout  _is_  faster, but this is better in the long run." I headed back to my bedroom and grabbed my wallet, slipping it and my phone into my jean pocket. "Come on then, the nearest Tesco is only a few blocks away. It won't get dark for a few hours, so we can just walk." I picked up Jim's shoes from their place by the bed, along with the jackets that was packed for Jim and I, and carried it all back to the kitchen. He was still slumped on the table, so I tossed them in his direction, hitting his legs. "Come  _on_  Jim! You're acting like your six years old!" He grumbled and began to put on his shoes, and I set his dark blue jacket on the table and slipped my pale green one on. 

     He stood and made to head to the front door to leave. "No!" I exclaimed, and he turned around. "It's nippy out, wear your jacket." Jim stuck his tongue out at me and went back and slid his jacket on over his grey shirt. "I honestly don't feel like listening to moan if you got sick." 

 

     "I don't  _moan_." Jim stated, peering at me with an amused look as I locked the door behind us. "Moaning is what ghosts do…." His mouth spread into a grin. "And you, of course."

 

     "Bad Jim!" I hit him lightly on the arm as we headed down the sidewalk, scolding him. "Naughty, naughty Jim."

 

     "Ah, but you  _love_  it, don't you?" He commented as he briskly walked, and I felt like he was only doing so to make me rush after him. 

 

 

* * *

 

     "We're lost. Utterly and  _hopelessly_  lost." Jim sounded from behind me, his hands shoved deep into the pockets on his jacket. "I've seen that same cab six times!" 

 

     "We're in a  _city,_  there are tons of cabs!" I retorted, picking up my pace as we neared a crosswalk. "See? We're at the intersection of Ovington Terrace and Greenwich Road." I turned right, Jim trudging behind me. "That means Pencisely Road is up ahead, and the store is just 'round the corner." Jim was silent as we walked on, and I took the time to absorb the familiar sights and smells of my childhood. I had grown up in this neighborhood, and it looked the same now as it did when I moved away. It wasn't until we entered through the automatic doors of the store that Jim made to speak again. 

 

     "What are we buying?" He asked as I claimed a metal shopping cart from the corral. 

 

     "The essentials really." I headed towards farthest isle and began to head down it, pausing occasionally to put things that we needed in the cart. "Anything in particular that poor, starving Jim is hungry for?"

 

     "Soup." He stated, walking beside me with his hand resting on the side of the cart. 

 

     "Soup it is then." We headed down the next isle, making sure to grab the various things that we wanted. "Why don't you go grab something for breakfast?" 

 

     " _Fine._ ” He groaned as he took in the surroundings of the isle.

    “Stop whining, you big baby!” Jim rolled his eyes at me and started to saunter off. "I'll be getting sandwich things!" I called after him. He waved a hand to acknowledge I had spoken and then disappeared around the end. I continued down the isle and headed into the next section, where I proceeded to collect the necessary items for various types of sandwiches and snacks. I had just picked out a type of jam to get when a cereal box sailed over the head and into the cart. I turn around and found Jim messing with a neat pile of stacked drinks that were on sale. I took in the brightly colored box and looked at him amused. "Golden Nuggets? I haven’t had these since I was eight!” I looked at the side of the box. “It’s 90% sugar!”

 

     He looked at me with a very serious expression on his normally expressive face. “Are you okay?” Jim started, stalking towards me. I nodded, somewhat confused by his behavior. “Because it seems to me that you don’t this… but… they taste yeeee haaa!”  His serious demeanor was gone in an instant, replaced a bright smile and clapping hands.

 

     I rolled my eyes at him, huffing my exasperation. "The criminal overlord eats Golden Nuggets and enjoys cuddles. Oh, the  _irony._ " 

 

     "You're  _stereotyping_ me! I thought you were better than that!" Jim explained shocked. 

 

     I opened my mouth to reply, but thought better of it. "Let's go then." I settled on, pushing the buggy towards the checkout. The line wasn't too long, so we managed to get out of the store with little no additional whining from Jim, who glowered at the stick-like teenage boy who was slowly checking us out. With one last snarky comment about who was carrying what, we set out for home.

 

 

* * *

 

     "Getting take-out would have been easier." Jim mentioned as he sat at the kitchen table.

 

     "We'd be hungry tomorrow. This is better in the long run.” I stirred the simple canned chicken-noodle soup with a metal stirring spoon. 

 

     "We could have take-out tomorrow too." 

 

     "Wasn't it you who said just this morning that, and I quote, ' _Not all of us can live only on take-out'._ " I crudely mimicked a horrendous Irish accent. 

 

     "I do  _not_  sound like that!" 

 

     I shrugged. "Close 'nough." I grabbed two red bowls from the cupboard and split the soup between us. Bowls in hand, I sat down at the table, sliding Jim's to him. 

 

     We sat in a state of comfortable silence, the only real noise coming from the occasional louder truck rumbling down the road in front of the house, and the clinking of metal spoon against ceramic bowls. "Plans for tomorrow?" Jim asked out of the blue, letting the spoon clank against the sides of the empty bowl as he dropped it.

 

     I shrugged, stirring my own spoon in the small amount of soup left over. "She said she's safe to check out tomorrow…. So unless something pops up, we could stay tomorrow and leave after she's at home, or the next morning." Jim stood and swooped my bowl away from me before depositing in the sink. "You're the one with the schedule, not me." 

 

     "Sebastian can run things for another day or two." I nodded, and smiled as Jim kissed the top of my head. "I'm going to bed." 

 

     "It's not even nine!" I exclaimed. 

 

     "I never said I was going to sleep," He drawled. "I said I was going to  _bed."_  


     "Oh." I blinked with realization. " _Oh."_  With a suggestive wink, Jim bolted out of the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

     "You trust him?" I asked Jim a little while later, as we rested cozily in the small bed. I knew Jim wasn't asleep; he was wound too tight to be asleep. Jim Moriarty was a limp rag asleep, and a tightly wound spring when awake.

 

     "Hmm?" Jim murmured, opening his eyes, and looking up at the plastic glow in the dark stars on the ceiling to me, as I lay burrowed into the blankets. 

 

     "Sebastian, you…. I haven't heard another person speak of someone like that before." 

 

     "Speak of him how?" He questioned, seeming to be truly interested. 

 

     "Like…" I knew Jim trusted Sebastian, even though I had never seen them truly interact, it shone clear as day the moment Jim mentioned his name. "It's… in your voice, it shines clearer." I tried to explain, ending up with a lame bit that sounded somewhat like horrible poetry.

 

     "They can get to everyone, Lacie. Everyone except Sebastian. I trusted him because I had to, and then because he made it simple to." 

 

     "They?" 

 

     "'They' being anyone. Anyone and everyone can be tempted and turned against each other. It takes an exceptional bond to create the trust I hold in him." 

 

     "I don't understand…." I truly didn't. I trusted many people, many of them strangers I had just met. I trusted Jim, and I couldn't think of anything from his past that I truly  _knew_  about him. 

 

     "Sebastian used to be a business man, if you can believe it." I tried to imagine the rough looking blonde dressed like the stereotypical businessman, but he just looked  _wrong._  "He's the son of Sir Augustus Moran, and he was raised to take over his father's business empire when he grew too old." 

 

      _"Sir…_ " I paused, trying to figure out where I had heard the name before. It hit me suddenly, the memory of my last year of primary school, in my history class. "He was part of the…" I tried to remember the exact name, but I couldn't quite piece it together. "The one with the tubs." 

 

     Jim chuckled, and I feel the vibrations as we laid together. "The Order of The Bath. Good try though." 

 

     "I was sixteen, you can't expect me to remember everything from my history class!" I exclaimed. 

 

     "I certainly did." 

 

     "Continue, Jim." I reminded him, rolling my eyes at his gloating. 

     

     "Seb went to Eton, and from there went on to Oxford. Surprisingly, he was incredibly straight-laced during that time. I had the chance to meet him for the first time when I snuck onto the campus to attend of a seminar I was interested in. I had been accepted to Oxford, but I turned it down for a more… stimulating environment.

     “The seminar was over the current nuclear export control issues, and I just had to go because it was being taught by a professor who hadn’t given any sort of lecture in years. This was the only chance to hear it from him directly. So, I bribed a student to let me have his student pass and managed to sneak into the seminar. Sebastian just happened to be the student the I was assigned to sit next too, as I somehow managed to bungle the time and barely made it in before the hall closed…

 

* * *

_Jim’s Flashback_

_Jim groaned as he glanced at the expensive timepiece that was set on his wrist. The idiotic student that had told him that the seminar started at 9:30 had been wrong, what he had given him was the time that the doors closed. Huffing exasperatedly, he managed to scoot through the thick doors just as they clicked shut, securing the room for the next two and a half hours. He glanced around the room, noting with irritation that several heads had turned to see who had entered so close to the starting time. Jim hadn’t wanted to be noticed, it made it for a more likely scenario that he would be caught. Not that he couldn’t wiggle his way out of trouble, just flash a few fancy credentials at the whoever was the head honcho and then slip away… but it would still be a hassle and it would prevent him from being able to listen in on the topic._

_A quick survey of the room told him that all the seats in the back were taken, the preferred area that Jim wanted to hide in. Gritting his teeth, he slid into the only open seat, a desk table that was already occupied by a tall blonde haired student. The giant turned and smiled at Jim when he sat down, and Jim was careful not to make eye contact. Eye contact makes a longer lasting impression in the cerebrum, and Jim did not want to be remembered. He set up his notebook, mostly filled with various bits of information, and opened it to a new page. As the seminar began, Jim started to jot down the interesting bits that the man said. A few minutes into the lecture, the blonde student turned to him._

_“Can I bum a pencil off you?” He whispered, breaking Jim’s concentration. The dark haired boy that was a mix between a teenager and a man passed a pencil without speaking. Gritting his teeth, Jim tried to focus back to the statistics that were being scribbled onto the chalkboard of the room._

_“Thanks…” The student said gratefully, flashing Jim a large and overly friendly smile. “I’m Sebastian.”_

_Jim turned a cold gaze onto Sebastian, who just grinned a little wider. “Jim.” He spoke with a chilled voice, his attempts to ignore the student failing. Direct face-to-face contact ensured at least short-term memory, added with his accent almost ensured that he would be remembered. A few quick glances about Sebastian told Jim all he needed to know. Rich, good family, good grades, smart, but not smart like Jim. Smart enough to be bored. Normally Jim would refrain from contact with ordinary people, but in this case it would be making the best of a bad situation. And who knows, in a few years Jim might need something from this student. Connections were everything._

_“I haven’t seen you around here before.” Sebastian whispered a bit loudly, and the lecturer turned from the board and gave him a sharp glance. He quickly and quietly tore a sheet of paper out of the plain black notebook, and scribbled on it before sliding it over to Jim._

_**Are you new?**_

****

  
**_Visiting for the seminar._**   _Jim scribbled back before passing the note back. He continued to write down notes._  


_Jim and Sebastian continued to write each other throughout the seminar trading information about where they lived, what they enjoyed, the ordinary information that people discussed for the first time. They only stopped when the lecturer finished, and the students stood to rush from the room. Jim quickly gathered his things, and was quickly swept up into the crowd of students. When the group dispersed, he was already several yards down the hall that would take him to the unattended back entrance to the school._

_“Hey! Jim!” The clatter of footsteps on the worn brick pathway alerted Jim to Sebastian’s presence, of which he had been trying to avoid. A hand reached out and gripped him on the shoulder, and Jim turned slowly, attempting to control his anger. People did not manhandle him! “You forgot your pencil.” Sebastian handed him the plain yellow pencil back, and Jim quickly tucked it into the large pocket of the ordinary backpack that he had purchased for this little ‘mission’._

_“Thank you.” Jim started to turn and leave, but was stopped once more._

_“Where’re you going?” Sebastian asked him. It was convenient conversation for connections at first, not it was just annoying._

_“I’m heading home.”_

 

_“Not going to hang around for the rest of the day?” Sebastian scuffed one of his plain brown shoes against the brick as Jim nodded. All he wanted was to leave. “S’kay…. You wanna skip then? We can go hang out at Robert’s shop. He got a shipment of the new comics.” At this point, Jim felt the tiny ball of anger in him build. He had certainly made it clear that he just wanted to leave!_

_With a dreary sigh, Jim focused the whole of his attention onto Sebastian. “Don’t take it personally, but I try not to associate myself ordinary people. In fact, I’d rather just leave and never see your ridiculous grinning face ever again.”_

_Pivoting on his heel, Jim turned away and continued down the path, a smug grin on face. Seconds later, he felt the breath knocked out of him as the larger boy’s body collided with his. He was quickly knocked out of the small sight range that the staff had, and into one of the only blind spots on campus. Jim inwardly cursed himself for allowing him to be caught unawares._

_“I was trying to be nice to you, you little prick!” Jim’s back was pressed against the rougher brick of the building, his bag knocked onto the ground. Sebastian had his arm across his throat, easily lifting him several inches off the ground. Jim wasn’t particularly sensitive about his shorter stature, but it was the occasional time like this that he wished he were just a few inches taller. Time to deploy the defenses then._

_“Trust me, I may be little, but my prick isn’t.” Jim winked. Bad idea._

_Sebastian narrowed his eyes and brought his face closer to Jim’s. “What makes you think that you’re better than me? Do you have any idea who I am?”_

_“Little Augustus’s son, obviously. And I don’t think I’m better than you, I **know**  I am….” Jim paused for effect. “The true question is if you have any idea who I am.”_

_“I don’t care who you are.” Bright blue eyes ringed with darkness unwaveringly stared into Jim’s. “I could kill you right now, and no one would ever know it was me. So stop with the cheeky attitude, you little shit.”_

_“You wouldn’t do that.” Jim inwardly grinned, already having deduced the limits of the blonde haired giant. “You have no reason to. All I did was say some choice words, hurt your feelings. If you killed every man who did that to you, you’d be caught rather quickly.”_

_“Then maybe it’ll just be you.” Sebastian pressed closer, applying more pressure to Jim’s neck._

_“I have contacts who would hunt you down until the day that they found you…” Jim grinned darkly. “And then they would-“_

_“Kill me? Lovely thought, but no.” Sebastian interrupted._

_“They would **destroy**  you. They would  **crush**  you, your family. Your father’s name, your mother’s name. Your family would become a black smudge in record books until the day every single descendant of yours vanished off the face of this god forsaken planet!”_

_“Someone’s a bit dramatic.”_

_“Someone’s a bit of a killer.” Jim bared his teeth. “Perhaps you should give real thought to that military pamphlet you have there. Put your bloodlust to some use, you brainless grunt.”_

_Sebastian blinked, confused. “How do you know about that?” Jim rolled his eyes; ignoring the scowl Sebastian gave him._

      _"You were fiddling with the flap of your bag when you were talking about the shop earlier. There are three books inside, two textbooks and a scribbled up copy of Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'. Tucked into the book is a pamphlet, crumpled and wrinkled. If you were giving serious consideration to the military, then you'd take better care of the pamphlet, and not let it wrinkled. It's only still in your bag because you found it again and used it as a bookmark as a last minute substitution."_  


      _"That's..." Sebastian dropped his arm away, letting Jim drop. He quickly grabbed his fallen bag and slung it back across his back. He quickly started to walk away.” How did you do that?"_  


     _Jim looked back over his shoulder and smirked. "I simply looked and used what I saw."_  


  


* * *

    “I didn’t see Sebastian again until I was twenty-four. He...he took my advice,” A bit of pride leaked into Jim’s voice. “Quit school not long after and joined the military. Became a sniper, the best…Colonel Sebastian Moran, as he was commonly known. He was shipped all over the world on missions… five-hour plane rides for an hour-long mission. Good pay, good benefits. But the problem was that he enjoyed his job. He enjoyed having the power of God, choosing between life and death for a person. He never missed, he never waivered, and he never gave pity.” He looked down at me and gave me a small smile. “He was booted out, eventually. The military doesn’t want snipers who enjoy killing, too much of a chance for bad publicity. They want their snipers cold and heartless in the field, and showing remorse for the public. Sebastian was never like that.”

  
__

* * *

_Holy Hogwarts! Another Flashback!_

_The tall, thin, weaker student that had currently been Sebastian Moran was gone. In his place was a hunter. A tall, broad shouldered man who looked like the kind of man you would cross the street to avoid. At the moment, he was dressed in a casual dark green jacket, a military style that he was used to from his days in service. Beneath the jack was a dark grey shirt advertising a worn logo from a band that had been split up for several years. Dark blue jeans and old sneaker completed the outfit, and unless you made an attempt to view Sebastian’s face, you would have completely ignored him._

_Short, choppy blonde hair that was similar to the color of wheat rested on his head, and beneath that set a bright pair of eyes, a shining blue that was tinged almost black around the irises. Sebastian had been told many times that he had pretty eyes, but now they were narrowed and his mouth was set in a scowl. A long jagged scar started a few centimeters away from his hairline, and ripped down across his right eye, until it stopped just before his jaw line. If asked about it or anything else, Sebastian would ignore the question and continue on his way. He did not have time for people’s questions._

_Sebastian had been denied yet another job, at yet another shop. Shop help was the only that was possible for him to work, ever since he had been discharged. No one wanted someone who was booted from the military. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, he continued the trek towards his ridiculously small apartment. His apartment consisted of one room, one bath, and kitchen/living room that resided in the worst part of town. He had druggies and prostitutes as neighbors. Drug busts happened weekly, as well as gunshots and crimes. It was crap, but it was the only thing he could afford on his quickly shrinking savings. He was still sixteen blocks away when the grey sky above decided to let loose the downpour of rain that it had been holding in since that morning._

_Letting loose a string of curses, Sebastian picked up his pace. He’d be soaked to the bone by the time he got home, but it was better than spending the cash on a cab, when he could be spending it on food and other things. He reached a crosswalk and before he could even get halfway across, a shining black car pulled to a stop in front of him, blocking his path. Almost even before it stopped, the back seat door popped open, a nicely dressed man holding the door open from the inside._

_“Care for a lift?” A somewhat familiar Irish brogue poured out of the man’s mouth, and Sebastian felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle and stand on end. Something was wrong._

_“No thanks, I’d care to walk.” He started to back off and go around, but was quickly stopped by the familiar click of the safety being removed, and he paused._

_“The driver’s a decent shot, but I’ve heard you’re better.” The Irish man said, and patted the seat besides him. “Accepting the ride would be a better option for you in the end.”_

_Knowing that he was caught, Sebastian eased himself into the car, shutting the door behind him. An automatic click told him that the door was locked, leaving him and the man alone in the back seat. A sheet of dark, one-way glass separated the back seat from the front, and Sebastian could see the dark hair of the man who had pulled a gun on him. Turning his sharp eyes back to his abductor, he spoke in a voice that was more a growl than a voice. “What do you want?”_

_The man examined his perfectly kept nails for a moment, (not a fighter, Sebastian concluded) before looking over to Sebastian. His eyes were dark and large, with an obvious intelligence shining behind them. He grinned. “Heard the military couldn’t put up with you anymore.”_

_“Dishonorably discharged.” Sebastian corrected, feeling defensive. “Where did you hear that?”_

_“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Sebby. May I call you Sebby?” Sebastian scowled, and the man ignored him. “Is it true then? You’re the best?”_

_“I was.”_

_The man frowned. “That wasn’t the question, Sebby. Are you or are you not the best?”_

_“I suppose I am.”_

_The man scoffed. “Hear that? He **supposes**  he is.”_

_“I **am**  the best.” Sebastian ground out, agitated. This man was getting on his nerves._

_“Good. It’d be a disappointment if I went through all this work to pick you up and you weren’t.” The man smiled. “I’d like to offer you a job.”_

_“Doing?”_

_“My dear Sebby, what you’re good at of course! Killing.” The grin grew. “I’m in need of a sniper…. And I deserve the best, so of course I get the best.”_

_“How did you find me?” Sebastian asked. There was the familiar excitement growing in the pit of his stomach that came along with being offered a job, but there was also the firm voice in his head demanding answers. No one could ever accuse Sebastian Moran as not being careful._

_“You probably don’t remember me, but I kept tabs on you and you flew into my radar a few months ago.” The man fiddled with his perfectly knotted tie. “It’s always nice to see someone who took my advice and made something of themselves.”_

_The memory flooded back into his mind. He’d forgotten about him, the annoying stuck-up punk who had taunted him so long ago. “Jim Moriarty.”_

_Jim’s eyes widened a minuscule amount. If Sebastian hadn’t been trained to notice such little details, he would have never noticed. “You remember then, that’s good. Saves me the explaining.”_

_Jim Moriarty looked different now, six years later. He was a bit taller, but still not as tall as Sebastian. He was carefully groomed, and acted so casual in his clothes that it was clear that he wore such things every day. The dark, snake-like look in his eyes was still there, shining brightly now. He had several questions he wanted to ask, but Sebastian was a man of little words. He finally chose the more important one. “What’s the job?”_

_“An associate of mine has done some bad things. He’s no fun anymore, and I want him gone.” Hissed Jim._

_“I’ll need more than that.”_

_“You’ll get more if you agree to the job.”_

_“That’s not it?”_

_Jim smiled and gave him a wink. “I want more than just a mercenary. I want someone who is at my beck and call, day in and day out. I want someone who has no qualms with following orders, and I want someone who has no thoughts of disobedience. Not a brainless grunt however, I need someone smart enough to think for himself, and make the right decisions if they must be made.” He stared into Sebastian’s eyes. “I’m looking for someone I trust, someone who I can trust to take the right care for my empire when I need them to.”_

_“What does that entail, exactly?”_

_“Full time work, 24/7/, 365 days a year, unwavering loyalty. You’ll get paid much more than you would working for other men, and I’ll take care of the guns and other items you might need.” Jim thought for a moment. “You may be required to do mundane things as well. Such things may include cooking, cleaning, driving, bodyguard duty. You’ll be expected to go to events with me. And of course, you’ll be living at my estate. I want my man to be seconds away from me a all times.” Jim gave another glance at Sebastian to judge his reaction. Sebastian kept his face neutral, though inside he was screaming, both sides of his mind arguing over what to do. Take it, or leave it?_

_The car slid to a stop and Sebastian found himself in front of the entry to his complex. “I want an answer now. Yes, and you start immediately. No, and I leave and we never see each other again.”_

_This was the job Sebastian had been dreaming of. He’d have full time sniper work, but at what cost? He’d have to be this prick’s bodyguard and maid. But it was full time work at what he was good at! “I accept.” Jim smiled broadly, and rather than comforting Sebastian, it reminded him of the shark’s grin before it gulped down it’s prey._

_“Good.” Jim slid out of the car, and opened the basic black umbrella that he held in hand, shielding him and his Westwood from rain._

_“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked; his brow wrinkled in confusion._

_“What part of ‘you start immediately’ don’t you understand, Moran?” Jim started off towards the apartment that he knew to be Sebastian’s, thanks to his eyes and ears network._

_Sebastian hurried after him, and quickly unlocked the door to the shabby apartment. Jim wrinkled his nose at the messy state it was in as he examined the dingy grey carpet and the threadbare couch. A pathetically small T.V sat on a small table up against the wall, and a coffee table that looked more to be duct-tape than table was in front of the couch. “Get what you have to have. Anything else will be replaced.” Jim toed the couch with his foot. “In fact, almost everything will be replaced.”_

_Sebastian headed to the door that led into the bedroom and knocked it open as Jim continued to look about the living room. He grabbed the large suitcase from its place at the bottom of his closet, and began to pick through his things. He had just gotten discharged a few months ago, so he had yet to acquire an amount of possessions. He set the suitcase open on his bed, and sorted through his various clothes. He soon heard the soft clicking of shoes on the hardwood floor and knew that Jim was in the room. This was quickly confirmed at the surprised and excited gasp that he let loose._

_“Oh, look at that!” When he turned, Jim was low to the floor, delicately balancing himself on the heels of his shoes. A slender hand reached out and stroked the orange and black fur. “A **tiger!** ” Jim continued his examination of the pelt of the creature, carefully viewing the head and paws. When he turned his head to look at Sebastian, he bore a frown on his face. “No one told me you were a hunter…”_

_“How do you know I shot it? I coulda just bought it at a flea market.”_

_Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s in too good of a condition… Besides, how else would you get such a lovely little scar there?” Jim walked over to him, and traced the scar down his face. Dark eyes met blue ones, and Jim gave a cheeky grin. “Oh, this is wonderful! I’ve always wanted a pet Tiger…” He clapped his hands together and spun away from him. “I’ll send someone over tomorrow to gather it, we don’t want your prize to be ruined in the rain!” Sebastian snapped the suitcase shut and reached under his pillow, pulling out a gun. He didn’t have the holster on his at the moment, so he set it in the waistband of his pants and resolved to fix that as soon as possible. Only idiots carried guns in their pants, it leads to untimely accidents more often than not._

_“Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pants, Tiger?” Sebastian blinked in surprise as the nickname. He hadn’t known that Jim knew guns. Sebastian nodded and grabbed the suitcase. “That’s it? One gun?” Jim’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You are a world famous sniper, and you have **one**  gun? Oh no no, that is not going to work!” Jim started out the door, Sebastian following him. It looked to Sebastian that following Jim would soon become a pattern. “I’ve got a nice little arsenal at home that you can sort through… pick yourself out some nice toys for my little Tiger’s amusement.” They headed back to the car and it started heading off in the direction of Jim’s home. Thus a wonderful partnership was born._

 

* * *

 

 

   “Sebastian has been with me ever since. He will continue to stand by me until the end.”

 

   “The end?” I asked, curious. Now that I knew the story behind Sebastian, it made more sense on how Jim treated him. In a sort a weird sort of way, Sebastian was the John to Jim’s Sherlock.

 

   “Death, dearie.”

 

     “Jim, you've got years before that happens. Stop being so negative." Jim went quiet, retreating into his thoughts. 

 

   "I suppose you're right." He eventually said, looking at me. He smiled sweetly, and pulled me closer to him. "Let's dismiss all this dreary talk or death and memories. I'm tired." 

 

   "Whatever you want, Jim." I allowed myself to be pulled closer to his warmth and felt the wispy fingers of sleep start to claim me. 

 

 


	11. Jim the Tourist

     "Mrs. Fowell," Jim began to say, only to be interrupted. 

 

     "Richard, please!" My mother exclaimed, looking at him pleasantly. "Just call me Seren. You're making me feel like I'm some old lady!" 

 

     "No one would make that mistake, Seren." 'Richard' grinned, and I swear my mother winked at him. 

 

     "Well, I know that's true! I had Lacie at such a young age that many people would swear that we're sisters!" I knew for a fact that no one had ever thought such a thing. She was 46, and other than our eyes, we barely looked alike. 

 

     "If I didn't know you were her mother, I would have said the exact same thing." Oh my god. I resisted the urge to groan. We had only been here ten minutes, and both Jim and my mom were practically oozing excessive niceness. I was torn between wanting one of them to cut the act, and wanting them to keep up the charade until we went home. According to the very nice doctor who we ran into as we headed into her room, she would be allowed to check herself out at three. It was only one now, and we still had two more hours (or more) with the Hallmark family charade. 

     Jim and I had woken up early that morning, and after eating an early lunch headed out to the hospital. Unless our plans suddenly changed, we'd spend the rest of today either with my mother, or (as Jim suggested) I would escort him around the main sights of Cardiff. We'd then head home, and… do whatever we felt like, I suppose.

     

     "Oh, look at me! I'm blushing like a teenager!" My mother said, flattering her eyes at Jim.

 

     "Seren, I wasn't exactly sure how to bring this up, but on our first date Lacie here," He reached over and patted my knee, "told me that you wanted to be a singer when you were younger." 

 

     "Yes, I did." She took on a glow that got when she talked about her singing. "I was somewhat popular in my home town and in Cardiff when I moved here, and I wanted to move to London to become a famous singer." She gave a somewhat apologetic smile, "Unfortunately I had to change my plans. I took a trip with a couple of my friends to Ireland, as we wanted to spend the weekend there having fun. I caught some sort of bug while I was there and just thought I was coming down with a cold. Before I knew it, I was in the hospital with some sort of virus that was wreaking havoc on my throat and immune system. It took several months of speech therapy before I could sing again, and even then I couldn't do so for more than ten or so minutes at a time." 

 

     "That's just awful." Jim commented, frowning sadly. "I'm sure you had a lovely voice." 

 

     "Oh, I still do! It's just not strong enough to sing professionally anymore." She gave a shrug. "If you wanted, I could sing a bit for you." 

 

     "If you feel up to it, that would be lovely." 

 

     "Feel up to it? I'm restless from all this lying down! Singing would do me a bit of good, I'd like to think." She smiled, glancing at me. "I know just what to sing, too." With this, she straightened up and stretched her arms and head a bit, attempting to find a more comfortable position. When she was comfortable, she opened her mouth and the same gentle, warbling voice that I remembered from my childhood poured out of her mouth as she began to sing a song that I hadn’t heard in many years.

 

" _Lavender's blue, diddle diddle,_  


_Lavender's green,_

_When you are King, diddle diddle,_

_I shall be Queen_

_Lavender's green, diddle diddle,_

_Lavender's blue_

_You must love me, diddle diddle,_

_'Cause I must love you"_

    When she finished, she gave proud smile. “I used to sing that to Lacie when she got sick or couldn’t sleep. She’d hear the first few note and just conk out!”

 

   “You have a truly lovely voice, Seren.” Jim complimented, his voice soft. “Lacie is lucky to have had such a lovely women such as yourself as her mother.”

 

    My mother seemed a bit flustered at the sincerity of his compliment. “Well… I… I did my best, as we all must. She raised herself a bit too, so it was a team effort.” She gave a soft cough and rubbed a pale hand at her throat. “Lacie, would you run and fetch me a glass of ice-water? All that showing off has left me with a soar throat, I fear.”

 

    “Sure, yeah.” I stood up. “Back in a minute, Ji- Richard.” I caught the slipup in time and corrected myself, a bit flustered as I rushed from the room. There was a large group of people in line for the elevator, so I passed them by as I headed to the end of the hall, here the stairs were. I headed down them quickly; trying to reduce the amount of time my prying mother and Jim would be left together.

 

 

 

 

     “So, Mr. Brook.” Seren said as soon as the door latched shut again. The raspy tones her voice was gone, and it was clear to Jim that she had been faking. Something was so clearly about to happen; he could read it in her posture and in her voice.

 

    “Please, call me Richard. It’s only fair, you know.” He continued his charade. No one could accuse him of being a poor actor; he was chameleon-like in that aspect.

 

    “Why, pray tell, would I call you that when it is  _clearly_  not your name,  _Richard?_ ” She gritted out, and Jim noticed that her tone was the same as it had been yesterday, during the annoyingly mysterious conversation between Lacie and Seren. It was painfully clear to him that this was the topic of that discussion. “Lacie squints every time she says your name, and you always take just a split second too long to respond. Stop treating me like I’m some old fool you can pull the wool over on! I demand answers!”

 

    Jim ground his teeth. It was difficult to control his actions when he was demanded something. People did not demand things from Jim Moriarty; they begged for them. They pleaded and paid and begged him to play favorites. People did not demand things of Jim Moriarty, and the ones who did were no longer able to tell people of their demands. “I don’t think you are in any position to demand things of me, Mrs. Fowell.” The false tone of kindness slid from his voice and a harder shell replaced it.

 

    She ignored him. “I don’t care what  _position_  I’m in. I am Lacie’s mother, and in the end, she will trust me more than any oily words from your mouth!”

 

    “You want the truth?” He asked calmly, his right hand shaking slightly with anger. He forced himself to still it, and met Seren’s stare, his dark eyes meeting her lighter ones. “Most people can’t handle the truth, they scream. They fight, and they  _die.”_  Jim Moriarty hissed.

 

    Seren stiffened, though her gaze remained unwavering. “ _Gwiber!”*_  She spat the word at him, it’s meaning to Jim unclear, although it was obviously an insult. “Don’t threaten me!”  _*Viper_  


    “You still insist on prying? A very poor choice.” Jim vaulted up suddenly, and before she could even blink, he was by her beside, a hand on each side of her head. His mouth was close to her ear, and she could smell the brisk mint scent of the gum that he had been chewing earlier. His breath was warm, and a cold shiver ran up her spine.  _“_ I am Jim Moriarty, the spider in the web. I control the world, and I could destroy you with a blink of my eye.  _Do not test me!”_  He seethed. He blinked, and as if realizing what he was doing, he pulled himself back and straightened the dark blue shirt he was wearing. Speaking calmly, he continued. “I presumed it would be easier for Lacie if I went by an alias while we were here. Everything has ears nowadays.”

   “What does that mean?” Seren got her voice back, and gave him another prideful glare. “The  _spider_  in the web.”

 

    Jim sighed, and spared a glance towards the door. Even though he had only visited the building once before, he had been careful enough to observe and memorize the layout. It would be troublesome if Lacie returned in the midst of this… somewhat awkward conversation. Judging by the speed she rushed out of the room, Jim concluded that she would return in only a few short minutes. “Simply put, it means I’m a very scary person. It means that it would be best for you to not speak of this, even to Lacie. In the end, it is safer for both you and her to pretend that you have only met the kind Richard Brook.”

 

    Jim sat down, impatiently tapping his fingers on the faux wooden armrests of the chair.  _Solo Cello Suite No. 4 in E-flat major… Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach…._  His tapping was interrupted by another question. “Why you?” Jim brought his attention from the view out of the window back to Seren, who was sitting composed as if the previous incident had never happened. “Lacie is a good girl, why would she want you!?”

 

     Jim gave the question barely a second’s thought. “You’d have to ask her that yourself. I initiated contact, but she was the one who pursued it.” He went back to tapping.

 

     “Keep her out of it.” She spoke up suddenly, after several seconds in deep silence. “I don’t care what you do, but  _keep her out of it._  I don’t want her mixed up in your… business.” Her strong voice softened just a bit. “I beg you, Mr. Moriarty…” She startled him when she used his real title, and he looked up to meet her gaze. “Don’t get her involved in whatever you do.”

 

    “I assure you, I have never planned to include her.” This was something that was rare in a man of Jim’s nature. This was a pure honesty with no motive. He truly had no plans to include Lacie in his empire; he saw what happened to people who couldn’t fend for themselves. He knew what happened to people who got too close to people like him; and he had no plans in allowing that to happen to her.

 

    “Good.” Seren leaned back a bit, comforted by the thought. A frown graced her face seconds later, however. “What on earth is taking her so long?”

 

 

 

 

     _“Why are there so many people here?”_  I thought, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I had managed to procure a bottle of water and a cup of ice in the cafeteria of the hospital, but now I was stuck waiting in the impossibly long line at the single checkout that occupied the section of the cafeteria where the food was set out. There were only two people ahead of me at this point, but both of them seemed to be buying food for multiple people, and I occupied myself by looking about the room at the people and families that were sitting and eating together. My thoughts were broken as a small child ran past me, nudging me with her elbow and causing the plastic water bottle to drop from my hand.

 

     “Eloise! Stop that!” A somewhat frazzled woman caught the arm of the child and stopped her from running off. She turned to me, picking up the bottle and handing it to me. “I’m so sorry, she’s just antsy from having to sit around in the hospital beds for too long!”

 

    “It’s fine, no harm done.” I smiled and Eloise ducked behind the woman’s legs.

 

    “Yes, well… she still needs to learn better than to run amuck and bump into strangers. Sorry for bothering you!” She turned to go, and the girl looked behind her mother at me.

 

     The deep voice of the attendant brought my attention back to the line. It was my turn to pay. I did so quickly, and headed out of the crowded room and back into the hallway. The elevators weren’t took packed, so I grabbed the closest one and headed back up to where my mother and Jim were waiting.

 

    “Sorry, sorry.” I said when I finally managed to get back to the room. “The line was a  _mess._ ” A thick silence greeted me. “So, whatcha discussing?” I placed the water and the cup on the table by my mother’s bed, and she gave me a thankful smile.

 

    “Nothing much.” Jim said, glancing over at my mother. She returned the stare, and I faltered. What was that about? “Just small talk, really.”

 

    “Well, I’m glad that you two are getting along.” I made sure to give my mother a very gracious smile. Obviously she hadn’t said anything rude or voiced her opinions about Jim aloud, though I wondered if I would have to hear them later.

 

    “Is this a good time, Mrs. Fowell?” A young man ducked his head into the room, the distinguished white coat on his body made me realize he was a doctor.

 

    “Of course it is, Alec. Does your arrival mean I can  _finally_  go home?” My mother perked up at the prospect of getting out of the clinically clean hospital.

 

   “Just a last minute check of your records, some minor paperwork at the front desk, and you’ll be free to go.”

 

    “Oh, thank  _god._  I’m wasting away in here!” My mother made motion to stand and climb out of bed, but Alec quickly stopped her.

 

    “Policy states that because of the type of injury you sustained, you have to take a wheelchair with you until you are at least out of the building.” A nurse walked in behind him, pushing a basic black chair. With an indignant huff, my mother placed herself into the chair and motioned the doctor and nurse away.

 

   “I’m sure I can manage to get downstairs by myself, Alec.” Alec bowed his head in apology.

 

    “Of course, just be careful.” With that warning he headed out, walking briskly towards the next destination on his schedule. My mother expertly guided the chair down the hall, scolding me whenever I went to help her. The three of us managed to make it downstairs and to the front desk with no trouble, and within seconds my mother had signed the last bit of paperwork and had already headed outside.

 

     “You know…” My mother commented as she beckoned towards a cab. The car pulled up under the carport and I opened the door for her. “If this is your last day in Cardiff, then you should take Richard sightseeing.” I glanced back at Jim, who was leaning up against stone pillars that lined the carport. His slick black phone was in his hands, and he was tapping away at the screen.

 

    “He’s not really the sightseeing type, mom. Besides, I really should help you get home and make sure you’re okay.”

 

    “I am  _not_  some sort of decrepit fool! I can get myself home just fine, and I don’t need anyone’s help. I was only in the hospital so long because they wouldn’t let me leave! I specifically asked them not to call you because I knew you’d rush up here immediately. Go off and have fun! Go eat lunch out, and just relax.”

 

   I was hesitant. It would be fun to just wonder around, but at the same time I was worried about my mother. “Are you certain you’ll be fine?”

 

    “Of course!” She leaned and grabbed me close to her, and I could smell the familiar vanilla and coconut perfume that she always wore. “You go and have fun, you spend too much time alone.”

 

    “Alright, alright.” She slid into the seat of the taxicab, and gave a last glance at Jim. Her eyes took on a somewhat distrustful gaze, and I wondered what happened between them. “Lacie… you know I just want you to be safe and happy, right?”

 

   Confusion clouded my face. “Well, yeah...”

 

    “Do you feel safe with Richard? Are you happy?” Her grey eyes bored into mine, and she held her stare steady.

 

    Where did that question come from? I turned back to look at Jim, who lifted his gaze from his phone and winked at me before drifting back to whatever was holding his attention. I smiled and turned back to my patiently waiting mother. “I am. Really.” I struggled to find the correct words. “He’s… unpredictable, but he’s good. Jim’s a good guy, Mom. I trust him.”

 

    “Alright then…” She gave another look in his direction, as if he would change or disappear when she looked away. “Just be careful, dear.” As an afterthought she added, “And don’t be afraid to call sometime. Just because you’re busy doesn’t mean you have any excuse not to check in!”

 

    “I will, Mom.” She smiled at me and shut the door. As the cab headed off, I walked back to wear Jim was standing. He looked up when he saw me approaching, confusion on his face.

 

     “Where did she speed off to?” The phone was slid back into his pocket, and he rocked slightly on his heels.

 

    “She said it wasn’t right that you came all the way here and only saw her house and the hospital.” I didn’t lie; it was a bit disappointing to see nothing spectacular. If anything, it was a minuscule white lie. “I’m supposed to show you around the sights and let you absorb our  _illustrious_  culture.”

 

    “Alright then.” He shrugged, seeming somewhat disinterested. I truly didn’t blame him; there weren’t a lot of things to see in Cardiff. “Where am I to be escorted first?”

 

    “Uhmm….” I checked the clock on my phone, noting the time. “We could go to the Plass, it’s only fifteen or so minutes away.”

 

    I decided that the nod that Jim gave me was a yes, and quickly managed to grab a cab in the busy entrance. Jim was silent most of the way to the Plass, only looking up from his phone once when the cab came to an abrupt stop at a stoplight.

     When we arrived, Jim jumped out of the cab and began to briskly walk off towards the middle of the open space. Several small crowds lingered around the edges, and multiple groups of tourists milled around the large water tower that was considered the more popular sculpture in the plaza. I shoved the appropriate bills and coins at the man who had driven us there and ran after Jim, trying not to lose him in one of the groups that were there.

     I managed to catch up to him just as he reached the base of the large metal tower that jutted into sky. Torrents of water ran down the edges of the tower, polishing the metal and giving it a bright sheen. I paused next to him, somewhat out of breath. I definitely needed to work out more or something if I was tired from a short run like that.

   

    Jim didn’t spare me a glance, and instead raised his phone up and quickly snapped a picture. He turned to look at me, and I gave him a weak smile. With a serious, somewhat blank expression on his face he spoke.  “What now?”

 

    He looked so serious in his question that I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. I clasped my hands over my mouth, as his forehead wrinkled in what I hoped was confusion and not anger. Unfortunately, the expression that Jim wore now was delightfully funny. He just looked so…  _serious_  about it! Another giggle escaped and within seconds I was full on laughing as Jim stared at me, a baffled expression on his face. “You just…” My laughing fit seemed to have thankfully faded off, and I tried to explain what was so funny. “You were so  _serious._ ”

 

    “I don’t see how that’s very funny….”

 

    “You just had this ridiculous expression! And then you…” Jim was watching me intently, and I let my explanation drift off. “Never mind, it was nothing really funny…”

 

    He gave me another look, narrowing his eyes as if he was staring at some sort of strange new creature. “If you insist.” Jim looked back at the Tower. “What happens next?”

 

    “Uhm… Nothing really… Whatever you want, you’re the tourist. It’s all up to you.” This sightseeing trip was heading downhill quickly. Jim wasn’t one to be interested in the sights, and I half wondered if he’d be more content back home, attending his ‘business’.

 

     "Lunch?" He questioned, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants. 

 

     "There's a great little shop down the road from here that sells the best chips. It's within walking distance too." 

 

     "Wonderful." Hand in hand we walked towards the cafe. The air between us more relaxed. We ordered our food and settled in our quiet afternoon together.


	12. The Meeting With Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long for me to get out! I've been really busy with college stuff, so that was not fun. I hoep to have the next chapter out soon.   
> Someone mentioned that I should change the rating to 'M', so i did because I don't remember why I had it Teen in the first place? So I fixed that up! Well, enjoy!

    With a fatigued sigh Mycroft Holmes looked away from the laptop screen that was currently showing the live CCTV feed of Cardiff, Wales. On the screen was the annoying criminal Moriarty, and the woman who Mycroft thought was somewhat disillusioned about her  _boyfriend's_  job. He had been carefully keeping tabs on both Ms. Fowell and Moriarty, and had even gone as far as confronting the Fowell girl about her activities with the notorious criminal, but that plan had bore no fruit.

     He shut the silver laptop lid, hearing it lock into place with a faint click, and leaned back in his chair, allowing his eyes to drift shut for a few well-deserved minutes of quiet. The man… No, the  _spider_  that was Jim Moriarty had spent many weeks playing a malicious game with his younger brother, and had attempted to contact Mycroft multiple times during their game. Now, with Lacie involved in the situation, Mycroft’s level of apprehension was increasing rapidly.

    His apprehension was not rising from any sort of feelings for Lacie, other than the feeling of annoyance. With Lacie living in the flat beneath his brother, it provided Moriarty an easy way into Sherlock and his blogger’s flat. With another sigh of trepidation, Mycroft sat up in his chair, and pressed a small button on his desk. Within seconds there were several soft raps on the thick, dark wooden door that was the only (publicly) known entrance to Mycroft’s office.

 

     “Come in.” He said, resting his arms on his desk. A tall, slender man in a dark suit entered in through the door, and approached the desk. Without waiting for the man to speak, Mycroft slid a piece of glossy paper across the desk to the man. “It seems that now would be the perfect time to bring Moriarty in for a little… chat. His current location is in Cardiff, Wales, however I’m certain he will be returning soon. Be sure to politely request this meeting of him, and notify me when he agrees.”  

  


     There was no answer from the man, who promptly nodded and took the offered photo, an average quality shot of the dark haired man and the dark blue-haired woman walking across a street. The woman had her gaze fixed on something across the street, one arm linked with the man's arm, the other pointing in the distance to something that the CCTV camera didn't capture. The man had his face turned directly towards the camera that had taken the photo, his dark eyes cold and his mouth set in a sly smirk. He turned and left the room, quickly notifying the proper people to execute the orders given to him.

 

* * *

 

One Day and Five Hours Later

 

* * *

     The black car that slid up to the curb next to Jim Moriarty was expected, though not expected at that moment. If someone were to ask about the 'abduction' Jim would have stated that it was less of an abduction and more of a business meeting. Of course, in other meetings Jim is not pulled into a strange car, handcuffed, and held in the back seat with a black bag over his head. And while he  _did_  request several times to meet with the man who had set about his abduction, he  _did not_  ask to be treated so roughly and was disappointed in the blunt, brutish method that he was brought around to where he was now. 

     It was mildly disappointing to be whisked away only a few hours before the exclusive gathering that was being held at a very influential (and very corrupt) politician's house, but Jim was appeased by the fact that they had taken him before the party, and therefore he was dressed in plainclothes and not in the exquisite Kinton K-50 that he had specifically made for him that year. The rough metal chair and cold concrete room that he was in would have insured that the exquisite material be ruined. The hood that had been placed on his head was pulled off after he had been handcuffed to the metal chair, and the two men who had lead him into the room vanished out the heavy door, and the sound of several thick locks sliding shut resonating through the room. He was seemed to be alone, although when he craned his neck he could see a large glass window that took up most of the back wall. Obviously a one-way mirror that at least one person was watching him from.        

 

     He turned back towards the door, wondering how long he would be left alone until someone would come for him. When no one came after the first few seconds, Jim realized that it was possible that no one would come for him in days. Isolation was one of the most common psychological torture methods, though it would take more than just a bit of time to himself to break his mind. When he came to that conclusion it was almost as if someone else had reached the same result as well, as the door was opened and the very man he had wanted to meet with walked in, followed by a single guard.

 

     "Oh, Myc…" Jim crooned, "I said I just wanted to talk a bit, you didn't have to be so rough!" 

 

     His teasing was ignored, and Mycroft held his mask of indifference so cleverly in place that it was irritatingly useless for Jim to try and read his true intentions in his eyes. "I wish to know what your intentions are towards my younger brother." 

 

     "You can trust me, Mykey. My intentions towards your brother are nothing more than that of a true gentleman." He grinned, but when his comment didn't seem to phase the man, he let the smile slip away. A dark eyebrow was raised questioningly as he pondered his thoughts aloud. "You can't honestly not know… I would've thought that your job as big brother Mycroft would have let you guess my intentions earlier. Oh well," Jim shrugged the best he could in his position, "it seems that I've over-estimated both of the Holmes boys. How sad, I was looking forward to more playtime with the two of you." 

 

     "I'd like you to stop." Stated Mycroft bluntly. "These games with my brother are getting out of hand. It would be in your best interest to disappear from his life, and London, completely."

 

     "So  _that's_  why you didn't accept my invitations for dinner… You think that by holding me here you can threaten me into stopping?" A twisted grin spread across his face. "You can't force me to do anything, King." 

 

     Mycroft spoke to the man that had entered the room with him, keeping his eyes locked on Jim's. "Make sure that changes his mind." 

 

     As he turned to go, his hand on the door's metal handle, Jim began to shout, almost maniacally. "You think you can make me change my mind?! You and your horses could make me do a damn thing that I didn't want to do!" Mycroft opened the door, and headed out into the hall. As the door swung shut, the echoes of Jim's shouts filling the hall. "You should run, Mycroft! You should be terrified of me! I'm going to set fire to everything you love! Your brother, his career, I'll even destroy his idiotic doctor and your pathetically loyal detective! I will burn their ASHES!" Jim howled, and the heavy door slammed shut. 

 


	13. Of Plans and Weakspots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who was it?" Sebastian asked after sitting in silence for ten minutes or so. "The person who did this."
> 
> "Big brother Holmes." Jim replied without looking up form the message he was sending. "Don't bother getting pissed about it, I was looking for a meeting." 
> 
> "You were looking to be held captive and beaten for more than a week?" He said, looking into the rear view mirror. Jim looked up and held his stare.
> 
> "Things happened that I didn't predict. This changes nothing, except to move things along faster." He continued to tap away at the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is chapter 13, a little late than anticipated, I was swamped with exams, college, and all that stuff... Thankful I'm going to be done with highschool on Friday, so I'll have all summer to work on this until I'm off to college!   
> This chapter is going to be from Jim's view, or from a 3rd person view focusing on Jim. Same with the next chapter, I'm just trying to wrap up the strings of this section and get back on track towards the Fall!

* * *

An Unknown Amount of Time Later

* * *

 

 

     It was unknown to Jim the amount of time that passed as, what he assumed were days, went on. He was allowed to wander his cell, a cement room that was exactly eight footsteps long, and six footsteps wide. The bolted down metal chair in the middle of the room was hard and uncomfortable, and Jim took to resting and sleeping in short bursts in the corner of the room that allowed him to view both the metal door that kept him locked in and the one-way window that was used by whomever was watching him. A single CCTV camera was mounted in the upper right hand wall, keeping on eye on him and the door. 

     He was left alone for hours at a time, and the times that he was alone were spent working. They hadn't emptied his pockets, which had been a blessing, but when Jim eventually tried his phone to see what contact he had, he discovered that there was no signal wherever he was. He hadn't expected there to be, but it was still mildly worrisome not to be able to contact his Sebastian in case something happened that was not planned. His time spent scratching the walls, the floor, even the glass window with what he had in his pockets. It was long tiring work, but he felt that the taunt was worth it. Slowly the scratches deepened and could be read easily,  _Sherlock,_  the walls seemed to whisper with the written word.  _Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock._  


  
When he was not left alone, he was handcuffed back in the uncomfortable chair and left to the mercy of whoever was trying to get information out of him. They never succeeded, and to his surprise, were never as brutal as they could be. Although he experienced a weary exhaustion that lingered even after he slept, he felt confident that the extents of his injuries were bruises, scrapes, and cuts. He was given food and water, though the portion size was small. A common technique to keep prisoners weak, a technique that he himself had employed many times. One of the reasons he had done so well in his conditions was that he had in fact used the many methods used against him on other people. He knew what to expect, and was careful to retreat back into his own mind palace, carefully keeping any emotion of pain or discomfort locked away.  _"You always feel pain, but that doesn't mean you have to fear it."_  That was the mantra that he repeated as he waited for them to leave again. 

     It was during a time that he was resting, his back up against the cement wall and his arms crossed in an almost indignant manner. His legs were splayed in front of him; his head leaning back as he attempted to doze lightly. It was becoming increasingly irritating to him the brightness of the lights in the room, and he made a mental note to increase the wattage of lights in his own personal "meeting" room. It was a surprisingly effective method. The door opened, and Jim's eyes opened a crack. When he noticed the suited man standing in the door, he leaned forward and gestured to the room, his arms held out wide. 

     "Come to visit me in my cell, Mycroft?" He grinned hungrily; examining the suited government official the same way the wolf examines his prey. "Careful not to get your suit messed up. It'd be a shame to see such a nicely dressed man as yourself all ruffled and dirty." 

 

     Mycroft held a steady frown, his eyes flitting over the words on the walls.  _Sherlock._  He glanced back to a man standing behind him, and spoke. "You can get rid of him. I doubt he'll give you much more information, if any at all." 

 

     Before Jim could react, Mycroft stepped to the side as several dark-suited men filled the room and roughly grabbed Jim. A black silk bag was shoved over his head, and he was roughly dragged to his feet. It was disorienting to be suddenly thrust into darkness after spending so much time awake and with blinding lights surrounding him. His head spun as he was pulled along a corridor. He briefly felt the fresh kiss of a breeze on his skin as he was thrust outside, but that was quickly taken away as he felt himself being pulled in a car.  

     The vehicle drove, and Jim felt the two men on either side of him bump into his shoulders every time the vehicle went around a turn. He was being driven somewhere, preferably a place with a decent cellphone signal so that he could call Sebastian. When the vehicle stopped and the engine was turned off, Jim was somewhat hesitant about exiting the vehicle, even though he had no choice in the matter. He was walked somewhere, only a few seconds away, and then was suddenly blinded as the bag was ripped off of his head. He blinked his eyes furiously, trying to adjust them to the sudden light of the sun, and as he did so he heard the car that had brought him there start up again and drive off. He was now alone. 

     

     Jim looked around at his surroundings, trying to judge where he was. Still in the city, judging by the sound of traffic and the tall buildings on either side of him. He was in an alleyway, one with strange puddles of liquid that he preferred not to think about and bags of trash lining the walls. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the black screen, his plan to call Sebastian to come and get him crushed as he saw that the phone wouldn't turn on. With a sigh, he placed the dead phone back into his pocket and stepped out of the alley to determine where exactly he was. 

     Jim knew every street corner in London, every road and every possible route that a single person could take. He had studied the city extensively his first year there, and now the knowledge was helping him once again. The alley that he had been ditched in was ten blocks away from Baker Street. He didn't have enough money in his wallet to hire a cab, so he set out on the long and irritating walk to Baker Street. There, he reasoned, he could get Lacie to call Sebastian to come get and get something to eat while he waited. 

 

     More than half an hour later he finally arrived at the door to the apartments. He let himself inside the building quietly, unsure if the detective and his blogger were in the building or not. Lacie hadn't been outside, and he wondered what day it was. He knocked rapidly on the door and soon enough he heard footsteps. 

 

     "Coming, coming…" The door opened and Lacie stood there in shock, a dirty smock splattered with paint hanging off her thin frame. "Jim!" She exclaimed, as he opened the door the entire way and walked into the living room. Fuck, he was  _tired._  "Where the  _hell_ have you been?" She exclaimed, quickly shutting the door behind him. "You've been gone for nine days, Jim! We've been worried about you. Hell, Sebastian's been over here every day of the week looking for you!" 

 

     "I was meeting with a client." He said exasperatedly. 

 

     "You look like you've been through hell, not a meeting." Jim shrugged and began to pull off his dark shirt. 

 

     "I'm going to take a shower." He started towards the bathroom, tossing the shirt on the couch. "Make me something to eat." Jim flicked on the bathroom light and shut the door behind him. A seconds later and Lacie could hear water running from the shower. What was going on? 

     When Jim emerged from the warmth of the bathroom, he shivered. The steamy air felt like a sauna compared to the lower temperatures of the apartment, and Jim could hear Lacie on the phone as he walked back into the living room. When he noticed she wasn't there, he peeked around the doorway to the kitchen and spied her by the counter. 

 

     "Look, I don't  _know._  He just showed up!" She exclaimed exasperatedly. "He's a genius, I don't think he would have just let someone follow him here… No, I don't think-" She turned away from the cupboard and saw him standing in the doorway, his hair damp and ruffled and only a towel wrapped around his waist. "Bring a change of clothes, the ones he showed up in are ruined…. Yes, I know, we aren't going anywhere. Just hurry over." She flipped her phone shut and sighed. "Sebastian is on his way over. Go wait on the couch and I'll bring you a something, 'k?" 

 

     He nodded and left the kitchen, wearily slouching on the couch. Jim sat on the couch, feeling exhaustion deep in his bones. He had been running on his last bits of energy since Mycroft let him go, and he was ready to just sleep for a week. Lacie came out to the living room, a plate of sandwiches carefully balanced in one hand, a basic first aid kit tucked under her arm, and a tall glass of ice water in her other hand. She set the drink and plate down on the coffee table in front of him next to the first aid kit, which she also set down. With practiced movements she pulled the large painters smock over her head, revealing the thin white shirt she was wearing beneath it. 

 

     "I can't remember when I last stocked this, so I don't know how much stuff I have in it, but I figured I'd try and clean whatever I could while you ate. We don't want you to get an infection…" She sat down next to him and gently grabbed his chin, turning his face towards her. "Fuck, Jim…"

      There was an overwhelming flow of concern in her eyes, coupled with something that resembled… pity? He turned his face away, somewhat angry at the expression in her eyes. He was  _James Alexander Moriarty_ , and people did not  _pity_  him. They were  _jealous_  and  _afraid._  He was  **not**  pitiful! With a solemn expression on his face, he grabbed on of the sandwiches and began to eat it. 

 

     Lacie sighed, and decided to ignore the almost pouting mood that Jim was in. She carefully moved him so that his back was towards her and began to gently dab at the various cuts. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what really happened."

 

     "I told you. I was meeting someone special."

 

     "Didn't think so." There was silence for the next few minutes, only the occasional crinkle from the sticking plaster and the steady ticking of the clock resting on the mantle place kept the room from being engulfed in total silence. There weren't any serious looking wounds on Jim's back or his arms, and although she would have felt a bit more comfortable having someone with some sort of medical background patching Jim up, Lacie contented herself with swabbing the cuts with a disinfectant and then patching him up the best she could. It was a slight shock to Jim when he felt her gently wrap her arms around him from behind, taking care not to rest herself against any place that might be sore or hurt. Her arms looped around his chest, both of her hands clasped together as she leaned her head onto his shoulder, her soft and warm breath caressing the skin just below his shoulder blade. 

     "I understand that you have your reasons for not telling me things, Jim…" She began to talk softly, her curls lightly brushing against his skin in a way that was somewhat ticklish. "You do bad things. You do dangerous things, and I… I know you have your reasons that I don't know about, and I'm not demanding that you tell me, but I just want you to know that… you worry me." She let out a half-chuckle, half-sigh. "You fucking  _terrify_  me sometimes. These past nine days I'm been half out of my mind… Whenever I called your cell it would go straight to voicemail, even Sebastian had no clue where you went. I…" Grabbing him a little tighter, Lacie continued on, her voice strained. "I kept having these nightmares…. I'd just be going about my normal day and then I'd see you on the telly, lying muddy in a ditch god-knows-where with the back of your head blown out and it was  _awful._  And then I'd wake up and think, 'Oh thank god it was just a dream, he's fine, he's safe' and then I'd remember that maybe you weren't fine or safe or maybe you were in a ditch somewhere and that I had no clue." Jim wasn't exactly sure how to respond, and so he didn't. 

     "I made Sebastian tell me what you were working on." He clenched his jaw tightly. "To be honest, he tried very hard not to tell me. He was just… worried too, I think. I think he might've thought that maybe I'd know something, but I didn't… You're playing a game with Sherlock, Jim. A very dangerous game of cat and mouse, and I want to know what you're hoping to win. You certainly don't need money or fame, and I have a feeling you could get any woman you wanted… You don't have any obvious motives that I can see, and that terrifies me. He's play for his  _life_  and you're playing for fun and games I'm terrified that you'll lose."

 

     "No one  ** _ever_**  beats me." 

 

     "I just want you to be careful, Jim. I want you to just finish playing your games and to just be  _safe._  I don't care if your empire crumbles to the ground and the world turns on you, I just want you to promise me that if things get bad, you'll stop. And even if they don't get bad, I want you to promise me that you'll come back to me safely at the end of the day, alright?" 

 

     "I…promise." The words felt strangle on his lips. He didn't doubt his abilities to burn the consulting detective, but suddenly it felt like he was playing for so much more than a distraction. He had someone that was waiting for him, and the thought of making her wait when he had a chance of not coming back at all shook him. Before he could voice his thoughts on the matter, the door to the apartment opened and a very peeved looking Sebastian was suddenly in the apartment, shutting the door behind him and carrying a duffle bag. 

 

     "Jim!" The bag was dropped carelessly on the coffee table, and Sebastian stood before him with a stern expression on his face. 

 

     Jim stood up, one hand still clutching the towel around his waist and the other grabbing the bag off the table. "You just took your sweet sweet time, didn't you?" He snarled. The overwhelming  _concern_  that was in the room was choking him. The subtle softening of the skin around Sebastian's eyes while his face remained in a stony stare, a clear sign of worry that Jim had read in the man for years. It  _sickened_  him. "I'm going to change." With flurry of movement he was gone from the room, and the door to Lacie's bedroom was thrown shut. 

 

     Lacie flinched as she heard the door slam, and then sighed, cradling her head in her hands. "Where was he at?" Sebastian asked, still standing. 

 

     "Who knows?" She said, lifting her head. "He won't tell me anything about… You know, all that." 

 

     "To be fair, you shouldn't even be anywhere near him considering who you are." 

 

     "What? What on earth does that mean, who I am?" 

 

     "It's not a bad thing, you're just… You're ordinary. You trust people you've just met, you follow the crowd, and you’re kinda a sheep." 

 

     Lacie was shocked. "I am not a  _sheep,_  Seb!" 

 

     "But you're not a wolf either, are you? Yeah, you've suddenly been enlightened from the mindless thoughts of the sheep that spend their lives thinking 'me, me, me' just by knowing about the Empire that keeps this world from crashing to the ground, but so what? You look in the mirror and see what, an artist? Jim looks at you first glance and sees someone he could easily grow to care about, but when he stops and stares for a bit he can the gigantic gaping hole that you've suddenly bashed into everything he's built up. He's spent his entire life making himself practically invincible. The man doesn't have friends, he doesn’t need them, and he only had me for the longest time and I do more good than harm when it comes to keeping him alive, so that's why I'm still alive. You, on the other hand, are weak and could be played against Jim so quickly that it would make your head spin." 

 

     "You say that like I'm… some sort of pawn." 

 

     Sebastian shrugged. "Well, that's a good way to put it I suppose. To Jim, we're all pawns that can be moved to his will. When we've done out job, we get knocked out of the game." 

 

     "I'm not a pawn, and I'm not playing any sort of game! I don't have anything that could be useful to his business, so there isn't any benefit for him to be around me unless he enjoyed my company." 

 

     "You live directly beneath Sherlock Holmes. It could be that he's looking for easy access." 

 

     Lacie stood up furiously, her hands clenched at her sides. "Fuck off, Sebastian!"  

 

     Sebastian raised his hands in defense. "I'm not trying to be an ass, I just want you to know what you're getting into."

 

     "Know what I'm getting into? Jesus, I'm dating Jim, not his business!" She exclaimed.

 

     "Well, they aren't exactly two separate things." Sebastian gestured towards the bedroom just as the door opened and Jim stepped out, looking more put together than he had before. While he looked human now, he still looked dead on his feet. 

 

     "If you two are both done bickering, then I'd like to go now." He snarled as he headed towards the door to the apartment. 

 

     "Boss-"

 

     "Just  _shut up_  Sebastian, and give me your phone." Jim stood expectantly with his hand out, as Sebastian fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to him. "I'm going to wait in the car, I've got business I need to attend to." Jim slammed the door on his way out, and Sebastian glanced over at Lacie as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. With a look that was somewhat apologetic, he followed Jim out the door. There was a sinking feeling in Lacie's chest, and a growing lump in her throat. She hadn't cried in forever, but now she crumpled into the couch and started to sob. 

 

* * *

     "Who was it?" Sebastian asked after sitting in silence for ten minutes or so. "The person who did this."

 

     "Big brother Holmes." Jim replied without looking up form the message he was sending. "Don't bother getting pissed about it, I was looking for a meeting." 

 

     "You were looking to be held captive and beaten for more than a week?" He said, looking into the rear view mirror. Jim looked up and held his stare.

 

     "Things happened that I didn't predict. This changes nothing, except to move things along faster." He continued to tap away at the phone.

 

     "What do you need me to do?"

 

     "Just drive. I need to make a few calls." He paused for a second, his fingers hesitating slightly over the phone. "Where are the Detective and his dog?"

 

     "Baskervilles. Something about a big dog and a glowing rabbit. Source says that they'll be a day or two, they left this morning." 

 

     "Good. Tomorrow we're going back into town." 

 

     "What for?"

 

     Jim grinned. "I need to break into 221B." 


	14. The Mission

     "La dummmm," Jim was humming merrily as he tapped on the screen of the laptop in front of him. "Why won't you just _upload_ for me, sweetie?" He hummed a few more lines of Partita No. 1 as the blue bar that indicated that the video was slowly being uploaded to the blog on screen. With an agitated sigh at the somewhat outdated laptop he was using, he pushed the chair he was sitting in away from the desk and stood up, his arms making creaking noises as he stretched them above his head.   
     "I'll just have a look around then, while you take your time." Jim glanced towards the laptop, and then walked towards the kitchen. He grabbed the metal kettle that was sitting on the back burner of the stove, and peered inside it. He didn't _see_ any toxic chemicals or haphazard experiments, but that didn't mean that there hadn’t been something in there recently. He took a cautious sniff then ran in under the tap a few times to make sure it was clean, and filled it with water before he put it back on the stove and started the burner up. No sense in getting dehydrated while he waited. Jim glanced around the kitchen, and then circled the table that still had breakfast dishes on it from the sudden trip that took the Detective and his Blogger away from their flat. A few experiments lingered on the table, liquid slowly evaporating in beakers and something that looked like white mold growing over the edge of a container. Jim wandered back over to the cupboards and opened them, looking at the somewhat mismatched dishes and cups inside, evidence that there had once been two separate sets of dish-ware. A set belonging to Sherlock, and another to John. They had just mixed together over time, and Jim was reminded of the neat and tidy matching Rosenthal Meets Versace Medusa dinnerware that was sitting in his cupboards at home, organized and properly set. He shut the doors again, and glanced down at the newspaper on the counter next to the toaster.   
     "Well _hello_ there, Mr. Holmes. I do hope you don't mind me intruding," He picked up the newspaper, and scanned the article on the front page. "My, _my._ How extraordinarily busy you've been. Just _look_ at that excellent track record!" He stuck his tongue out at the picture. "Love the hat, darling." He threw the paper in the sink, and pulled a small silver lighter out of his jean pocket. Flicking it open, he held the flame by the edge of the magazine and watched as the flame slowly jumped form the lighter onto the newspaper, quickly devouring the inked paper. As the flames reached across and touched the now-curling edges of the picture of a curly haired man with a shorter, blonder counterpart standing beside him, Jim flicked the lighter shut and slid it back into his pocket.   
     "Sherlock Holmes is falling down, falling down…" The kettle started to steam on the stove, and Jim grabbed a dark blue mug out of the cupboard. With a practiced hand he flipped the stovetop off, and began to rummage through the pantry for a teabag. "Sherlock Holmes is falling down, my poor Watson… Build him up with words and lies, words and lies, words and lies…" With his tea done, he made his way back to the living room and leaned over the desk, looking at the laptop. "Words and lies will crumble and fall, crumble and fall…" Seeing that the video was uploaded, Jim shut the laptop and returned both it and the chair back to its original position. Sherlock would know that he was there, but that was the point. To make a point. To make a statement, that he, Jim Moriarty, could get anywhere he wanted. He placed the mug on the desk next to the computer, and began to leave, carefully locking to door behind him. It wouldn't do to have someone else break in after he spent so much time setting up the stage.   
      He headed down the stairs, but paused before he went out the front door. His dark eyes shifted towards the forest green door that was the entryway to Lacie's apartment, and he hesitated. He had been exhausted, tired, cold, and a right bastard yesterday. It didn't help his mood to find her and Seb arguing either, and by then he was ready to blow a fuse. He fought over what do, something that he rarely did. He could either go and try and make amends, do the right thing…. but he was reminded of the files and paperwork and the forty-nine missed calls and the two hundred or so texts that he had to get through, and he walked out the door. He could always come back tomorrow, he had so much to do. He was not going home and doing his work because he was haunted by the argument, he had known that getting close to anyone would leave gaps in his defenses, people that could be used against him. That wasn't why he was going home at all, he consoled himself, he just had a lot of work to do.  
  
  
The Next Day  
  
  
     "Profit margins have dropped more than 45%, and that means-" Jim was ready to scream at the idiot on the other side of the phone, but it was through careful restraint that he didn't and let him try and make a good enough excuse. "No, I understand that it's just a few million pounds, but here's what you have to understand; you promised me that you and your little business would bring in more than 20 million a year. And you managed to do that for a few years, and that's lovely. But the past two years I've received less than 10, so you can understand my concern."   
  
      _"We're working on a new type of pill-"_    
  
     Jim cut the man off abruptly as the black car rolled to a smooth stop just down the street from his destination. "I don't really _care_ what you're working on. At this point, you're just becoming a problem." Jim impatiently tapped his fingers on the arm rest. "Listen, I'll do you a favor. I'll continue to fund your research and I'll supply you with whatever you need for the next two years-"   
  
      _"Oh thank you, Mr. Moriarty. I promise we'll-"_  
  
     " **Do not interrupt me!"** Jim hissed into the phone, and there was silence on the end of the line. "I said I'd continue to fund you and what not for the next two years, _but_ I expect you to bring in what you lost the last two years _and_ the promised 40 million that you owe for this year and the next... _If_ you cannot do this, then I'm going to sell off everything you and everyone who works in your business owns to get my money back. And if I can't get my money back from all your things, then I'll take the rest _out of your hide._ " There was a stutter on the other end of the line. "You have to understand, it's nothing personal, you see. It's just business." With a practiced hand he ended the call and leaned forward in his seat, looking at Sebastian through the rear view mirror. "Don't bother to wait for me, but don't go back to the house either. Stick around London, you might be sent on errands later."  
  
     "Call me when you need me."  
  
     Jim opened the door and stepped out of the dim interior and out into the almost blinding sunlight. It was a beautiful day out, and the sun was shining in the blue, cloudless sky. It was the type of lovely day that every Englishman would sell their soul to experience every day, and Jim squinted his dark brown eyes. He slipped a pair of Dolce & Gabanna half million pound shades, and surveyed the street around him as his black car pulled away from the curb and back out into traffic. Sebastian would never have let him leave the car if there was even a hint of danger in the area, but Jim checked anyway.   
     The sidewalks were almost empty, and Jim began to head off towards 221C Baker Street, less than half a block away. Sherlock Holmes had arrived back home less than an hour after Jim had broken into their flat, and because of this, he was reluctant to let Sebastian just leave him at the door. An unmarked car was more suspicious than a pedestrian, after all. He arrived at the entrance to the building quickly, and with a glance up at the empty windows that looked out over the street, he opened the door quietly and slid into the foyer of the building. There was no sound of movement upstairs, and Jim knew that while John wasn't currently in the building, Sherlock was and that John could very well be back any minute. His people, the ones he had watching the house, would notify him if John was on his way back, but Jim was still quick as he pulled the simple key that he had had made several weeks ago out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Without making scarcely a sound, he eased the door open and slipped inside, closing it and locking it behind him with a faint click.   
     Safely inside the flat, he turned his attention towards the problem at hand. Apologizing. That's what normal people did in relationships, they fought and then apologized and then had fantastic make-up sex. He wasn't looking forward the apologizing part, but he could see the perks. It was then that he realized that he didn't hear anything moving in the flat. No music playing on the radio, no quiet scraping of pencils on paper or brushes on canvas, not even the loud and overly dramatic voices of the actors on whatever the name of the horrible show that she liked. Just as Jim was starting to feel tense, his hand already pulling his phone out of his pocket to summon Sebastian to him in the case of an emergency, a loud clattering and clanging sounded from the kitchen and Jim gave a short sigh that could be taken as relief.   
  
     "Fucking hell..." A tired voice said as Jim leaned against the entrance to the kitchen, mildly amused at the situation that had unfolded. Lacie was standing with her back to him, the comforter from her bed wrapped around her. There was water all over the floor, which seemed to be coming from the metal kettle that she had apparently dropped.   
  
     "Have you tried to just not drop things?" He grinned as she pulled her blanket away from the spreading puddle, and when she jumped at the sound of his voice he laughed a little.   
  
     "Jim?" She sounded odd, and when she turned to face him he could see why. Her disheveled appearance that he had assumed came from her just waking up was very clearly not from sleeping in. "What are you doing here?"   
  
     She snuffled, her reddish nose wrinkling up. Her hair was a scraggly mess, though her appearance was not helped by the red swelling around her eyes and the box of tissues that she clutched to with one hand like it was a life line to a sinking ship. He frowned, his own face wrinkling up in mild annoyance. "The more important question is why was I not here sooner?" Lacie looked confused. "The answer is because a certain irresponsible _someone_ didn't bother to notify me that they were currently fighting off the black _plague._ "   
  
     "You were busy, and 'sides.." She snuffled again, "it's just a minor cold, I'm fine."   
  
     Jim cocked an eyebrow and gestured towards the wet floor. "The best medicine for a cold has always been spilling things everywhere."  
  
     "I was just making some tea and got dizzy."   
  
     "Well, there's no need to worry about that now, is there? Go to bed."   
  
     "What?"  
  
     "I'm going to take care of it."  
  
     "No," She protested, raising her hands. "You just got back from a nine day trip from god knows where, you should be the one resting."  
  
     "I took some pain pills, I'm _fine._ " More than fine, actually. Sebastian had called in his private Doctor and had Jim looked over and examined for more than an hour before drugging him several strong sleeping pills and sending him to bed, Jim arguing the whole time about the things that were much higher up on his list of priorities than _sleeping_. He felt much better now that he was comfortable, he only felt the minor twinges in his muscles when he stretched a bit, or moved his arm a certain way. He looked worse than he felt which was why he was wearing a jacket on such a nice day; as he looked like he had gotten into a fight with a train and lost.   
     Lacie looked like she wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it and nodded her consent, at which Jim smiled broadly, flashing white in a grin that seemed a little fake. "Go lie down. I'll fix it." She began to leave, carefully stepping around the water on the floor as Jim crossed over to the sink and grabbed a larger hand towel that was hanging on a hook nearby. "Where do you keep your medicine?"   
  
     "I'm out."   
  
     "Of what?"  
  
     Lacie shrugged, as sheepishly as could be managed with a large comforter around her shoulders, "Everything."  
  
     Jim sighed, and pulled out his phone as he waved a hand towards her room. "Lie down, I'll take care of it."  
  
     "Jim...." He looked up, his fingers pausing over the screen, "Thank you. For everything."  
  
     "That's what boyfriends _do._ It's in the contract. Now just go lie down before you pass out."   
  
     Lacie trudged her way back to her room, and Jim turned his attention back to his phone.   
  
 _1 New Message_  
  
     He opened the text and frowned.   
  
 _S & J back. _  
  
 ** _Let me know if they leave again. -Moriarty_**  
  
     Annoyed at the fact that he was now just downstairs of the apartment he had broken into, Jim quickly dialed a number.. Before the phone could ring more than twice, it was answered.   
  
      _"Boss?"_  
  
"Sherlock's home, and I'm still inside."  
  
      _"Do you want me to cause a distraction?"_  
  
"No, I need you to bring me contents of a pharmacy.”   
  
      _“…Is that code for a bomb?"_  
  
“Sadly, no. Medicine things, Moran. Cough medicine, pills, whatever. Put it on the company card, and then bring it all over here.”  
  
      _“What do you need cough medicine for?”_  
  
“Does it matter? I said fetch, and you _fetch._ ”  
  
      _“Just curious…”_  
  
Jim sighed, somewhat hesitant. It’d be considerably easier to just tell Sebastian why he needed what he asked for, but at the same it was a somewhat telling sign of weakness. Admitting why he needed it would be the same as waving the red cape in front of a raging bull; Sebastian was still adamant that Lacie would cause there to be flaws in his impeccable defense. “I need it for Lacie.”   
  
     There was a pause on the end of the line.  _“Why?”_  
  
Sheepishly, Jim expounded on his answer. “She’s sick, and she doesn’t have anything. I’m not going to leave her by herself.”   
  
      _“Dump her at a clinic, she’ll be fine. You’ve got more important things to do than babysit some sick person.”_  
  
“I’m not dumping her anywhere, Sebastian!”   
  
      _“Why? It’d be easier than playing nursemaid.”_  
  
“Because I’m her _boyfriend_ and that’s what happens in a relationship!”   
  
      _“Jesus Christ, Jim. You sound like you’ve been reading some fucking relationship guides… Listen, I get that you need to maintain your little charade while you play this game with Sherlock, but it’s nearing the end. You don’t need to keep up some persona now. Just finish it like you did with the Molly girl.”_  
  
“This isn’t part of the game, Moran!” Jim growled angrily down the line, and there was a considerably long silence on the other end.   
  
      _“Please tell me you’re joking.”_  
  
“Get the stuff.”  
  
      _“Jim, you can’t do this now. Whatever you have with her, it’s not going to end in a ‘happily ever after’ way.”_  
  
“Get the stuff, and bring it here.”   
  
      _“Jim, you need-“_  
  
“ **Just get the stuff and bring it here, Moran!** ” He practically shouted into the phone, running a hand through his hair.   
  
      _“Jim-“_ With an aggregated snarl, he ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. If Sebastian wasn’t careful, he’d end up a rug on the floor next to that tiger one that he loved so much. Jim stood, entertaining himself with the idea of skinning his right hand man as he headed to the kitchen. He might as well clean up the mess while he waited for Sebastian to show up. 


End file.
